Generation Vice
by FanSlewFantasy
Summary: AU. Alfred Jones is a bright young teacher with family problems and an iffy past. Matthew Bonnefoy is a shy, well raised child with a minor superiority complex and sweet nature. Angsty yaoi and a taste of the forbidden fruit is bound to ensue. DL,DR
1. PROLOGUE

**~GENERATION VICE~  
><strong>A Hetalia Axis Powers Fanfiction * Presented by FanSlewFantasy 2011_  
>AmericaxCanada *<em>**R***  
>YAOI~FLUFF~ANGST~INCEST<p>

…

_Who feels like a bit of America-cest in the morning?_

_I present to you all a totally out of whack AU gauken hetalia fic in which Alfred is a teacher (oh my god how utterly original! THAT'S never been done before…) Matt is a hipster and Matts best friend is a pyromaniac. Because I can see it happening… totally._

_Aaaaand… begin._

…

Alfred F. Jones dropped his books and briefcase on the desk and carded long fingers though thick blonde hair. The classroom was deserted and un-remarkable. Boring, actually, filled with scribbled on desks and tatty publications from 1978. There was a globe on his desk. For true, a globe. How utterly quaint and… well, he found it a little but stuffy.

The academy wasn't like the schools he was used to.

In America, he had taught at a school where every day the children would say the pledge of allegiance and there was no such thing as history before George Washington. The classrooms had whiteboards with erasable pens, as opposed to faded blackboards used so often the scratch of chalk could never be removed from the surface. The desks were seat equipped, giant sized for giant asses, and the education was free and unstructured.

The rigidity he felt upon entering this particular classroom was discomforting and distracting. Grim, overall, and unpleasant.

He found himself anticipating a class of straight laced robots, reciting times tables for recreation, discussing Shakespeare and maybe, the few rebels without a cause at the back would smoke. Speak vulgarly about shagging and bray in their heavy way until Alfred lost his temper and began screaming.

He sighed and nibbled his lower lip, pondering what should be done about the situation, how he could possibly brighten up the space.

A few flags and some posters of lady liberty should do it.

Yeah… just the trick.


	2. ONE

_The Author would like to extend gracious thanks to the wonderful Titoes, who Beta'd this_

_Links to her page can be found on my profile._

_:D_

…

"Fag me." Gilbert held out his hand demandingly. Matthew Williams, a slender fifteen year to whom such attention was still novel, blinked, not understanding.

"Excuse me?"

"Cigarette. Gimme one."

Matthew frowned "But… You don't smoke."

Gilbert rolled dark eyes at him. They were almost black, glimmering with a garnet flame, and dangerous. Matthew had found them most unappealing at first, but by now he was familiarizing himself with the stripping, squirming feeling they instilled in his chest.

"So?"

"They aren't cheep you know!"

Matthew returned attention to his croissant.

At fifteen years of age and of exceptional physical stock, one would think that 'the Bonnefey boy' as many of his teachers and classmates called him would be fairly established as an individual now. With a good group of friends, a few hobbies… Possessing hopes, dreams, aspirations that he could happily stand and explain if asked by a peer or a stranger in the street. The unfortunate truth, however, was that despite being blonde, with large almond eyes the colour of blossoming violets and a bright smile, Matthew Williams was rather new to this friend business. He hid behind old glasses, was not outspoken, had no particular hobbies as far as anyone who was associated with him knew, and was reluctant to speak of any ambition whatsoever.

To the majority of the public, this was extremely weird. Often, without even speaking to the boy, they left him well enough alone.

That's not to say he was, in actuality, remotely like anyone perceived him.

"C'mon Matty. Don't be a prude."

"I'm not being a prude. I'm just saying that if you want a smoke, you have to buy it. I'm short on money today." Matthew blushed, as if he was uncomfortable about standing up to the boy opposite him, and mentally kicked himself for it. It was a troublesome habit, and had on more than one occasion given an individual the wrong idea. "I'm sorry, but I only have a couple and I can't get more until Friday."

Gilbert tsked and rolled his eyes. "It's a bad habit anyway…"

Matthew would have said something to defend himself, but found he could not. Gilbert had a point.

As always, it was a grey lunch hour. And as always, it had passed very slowly. While other students passed time during their breaks playing sport or walking around and giggling, Matt and his only friend always favoured the table in the courtyard, by the staff room and library. The simple reason was that Gilbert always seemed to have perpetual detention and wasn't allowed to stray more than 10 metres from the headmasters office at all times.

Matthew sighed heavily and tucked a long blonde curl behind his ear.

"Hey, you never told me why you are here today?"

Gilbert shrugged. "I forget. It was either breaking the window in science block, setting off the fire alarm during the history test or punching Roddy in the face." he frowned and pulled a pencil out of his pocket. "It was probably the last one."

"Really? I swear to god Gil that boy could take an assault charge out on you."

He shrugged again, and began drawing dicks on the table.

Realising that Gilbert was not in a talkative mood today, Matthew withdrew, rummaging through his tatty home made satchel. His father had sewn it for him years ago, before his brief exchange trip to Montreal. Canvas, bearing a large maroon corduroy maple leaf, covered in badges and safety pins. He was fond of it, as tacky as it was.

He withdrew a tattered copy of _Perfume_ and proceeded to find his page, marked with a dog ear as well as a small embroidered bookmark.

He had only read a paragraph when the harsh, ominous clang of the end of break bell echoed through the grounds. Groaning, he dropped his book and slid off the bench. "You're fucking kidding me…"

"Nope." Gilbert didn't shift from his spot, apparently very much invested in rendering a foreskin just right.

"Not you, life in general." Matt repacked his satchel and swung it over his shoulder. "Aren't you coming?" he asked Gilbert, who looked up and shook his head apologetically.

"I have guidance. Sorry."

Matthew grimaced and wrapped his arms around his chest. "Can't you skip it?"

His friend sighed. "Even if I could, do you think I'd want to waste it going to history class?"

Well, that was also a good point. Gilbert was full of them today. How novel.

"New teacher anyway." He continued, shoving the pencil away and sliding out from the table. "So you pro'ly wont even have to do anything. Just sit at the front by the teacher and if you can, try and trip old Roddy for me when he walks past."

Matthew smiled weakly, irritated, and nodded. He had no intention of actually tripping the class prodigy, although sometimes he wondered if watching the stuck up little bitch of a man faceplant would be as enjoyable as it sounded. "Have you got your phone then?"

"Yeah. Text me after class and we can get ice cream or something. On me."

"That sounds nice."

The two boys bumped knuckles briefly, Matthew hitching his bag more comfortably over his shoulder, and he watched Gilbert saunter away and through the heavy double doors to the student's reception.

He sighed, heart heavy, miserably resigned to his fate, and headed in the other direction across the courtyard to the main door. His history class was on first floor, room 7a. Not far to walk, and it was easy enough to disappear in the crowd while in transit. No-one paid attention to the slight and hunched form of a teenage boy darting through throngs of loud and boisterous young adults.

Subsequently, He was the first to arrive in the classroom, which had apparently, over the weekend, undergone a huge transformation.

The globe on the desk was gone, replaced with a small CD stereo. The bulky old computer belonging to the ex-professor (a clunky senior man called Mr. Phelps,) was replaced with a sleek ASUS laptop and a steaming mug of coffee. Posters, most of them WWII memorabilia, had been tacked up over boring panelled walls. And two large flags, one American and the other confederate, decorated the back wall. The desks too, had been rearranged. From the neat two by two rows to large floating groups of four or six facing one another and dotted around the small space.

"Howdy." A bright, slightly nasal voice surprised Matthew even more than the sudden transformation of the classroom. "I'm mister Jones. Care to take a seat?"

The man who had spoken was clearly supposed to be the new teacher.

Supposed to be, being the key phrase.

For a teacher, Matthew thought, he was very young. Most or all of the teachers he had encountered up until that point were at least fifty. This man didn't seem a day over twenty-five, all though that may have been attributed to his jeans and 'I NY' t-shirt combo. His face was handsome, pointed and bright. Generous blue eyes glimmered behind classy glasses, and his blonde hair was straight, tossed off his face with a neat flick. A quirky, erect lock at the parting made Mathew smile a little, suddenly conscious of the little curl he always seemed to have bouncing around in front of his eyes as well. The man grinned, taking a seat behind his desk and reaching for his cup of coffee.

"Tell me your name?" he asked. "My first student here, I'm all excited."

His laugh was strong and brought a wholesome flush to Matthew's cheeks.

"Um, it's Matthew." He ignored a few students slipping past behind him, paying no attention to the new class layout and grabbing seats carelessly. "Matthew Bonnefoy."

"Okey doke." His new teacher sipped his coffee and gave Matthew a warm look. "Mind if I call you Matty? Less of a mouthful."

Bringing a hand to his face to hide his smile, Matthew nodded.

…

_The kids aren't as bad as I had imagined. _Alfred thought to himself as he wrote some dates up on the blackbord with a blunt of chalk. _That being said… they aren't so good either._ He put the chalk down on the ledge and dusted his hands.

"Right." Turning back to face the class and reaching for the pointing stick

_Oh a pointing stick! This I like…_

By the window, he glanced at his students to make sure they were focused at the task at hand. Nine or ten of them were, which was nice. A couple of girls, huddled in a group at the back, were braiding each others hair and texting beneath the desk. One boy was asleep and a few more in various states of catatonic boredom. Nothing unusual then, not something to stress over…

His eyes seeked the young guy, Matty, who had after giving his name taken the desk closest to his own, beside the window.

He was something alright. Alfred had decided it as soon as seeing him. Really pretty, dressed up in too-short jeans and vans. A long navy sweater vest on top of a plain white tee, thick rimmed glasses and a neat newsboy hat. He looked like something out of an art design magazine. The kind of kid who sits in Starbucks with his mac, drinking greenpeace coffee and tumblr-ing all over the place. And he actually seemed genuinely interested in what He was teaching too, a rare and wonderful thing in Alfred's eyes. Not many kids in the UK even knew what abolition was, so to meet one who was willing to learn and writing notes quite avidly was flattering to the young teacher. He warmed very quickly to this one student, and found himself regretting the end of class when it drew near.

"Everyone write these last dates down." The clock said there was still another ten minutes to go. "And once you have done that you can all leave early. Any questions, please remain after class." He waved the pointing stick enthusiastically at the board and flicked his hair back. "And the roll… can you tell me who isn't here today, so I can write them down?" hurrying over to his computer, he opened lecture and logged into his class schedule. Two hands were raised, one of them Matthew's, the other belonging to a haughty looking brunette with a violin case and a beauty spot.

"Yes, Matty?"

"Gilbert. Surname Beilschmidt."

"Right, okay." Alfred ticked the 'absent' box for this name and glanced back up to the brunette boy who had since lowered his hand.

"Yes?" he asked. "Were you going to say that name too?"

The boy nodded, closing his exercise book and picking what looked like a S. Oliver bag off the floor. "Yes, and I'd memorise it if I were you, because he will make your life hell." He stood rigidly, amidst other students finishing up their writing. Alfred frowned and nodded. "Okey, thanks."

Prissy brunette picked up his violin case and left without a backwards glance.

"Don't worry about him." A soft, sweet voice from Alfred's elbow had him snapping his head around to look. Matthew, books in his arms, shy smile in place. "Gilbert's not that bad."

"Is that a promise?"

Matt nodded and swung his weight onto his one foot. "But, um, I just… have a few questions about today's lesson?"

Alfred felt his smile brighten.

"Shoot." He took his seat and gestured for Matthew to draw a spare. "What is it you'd like to know?"

…

Ludwig Vargas, thirty two, flitted his fingers through Alfred's stack of applications idly, trying to find that one particular form once more.

As vice principal and secretary, it was his job to take care of all this sort of thing. God knows the actual principal couldn't, and the sad truth of that matter was that somewhere inside his chest, in a sick sort of a way, he genuinely enjoyed it. The organization, the smell of freshly Xeroxed attendance sheets. And don't even get him started on permission slips. Goddamn, if Ludwig had his way, his partner would fill out a whole stack of 'em for foreplay, no joke.

Regretfully, his lover lacked the concentration to even hold a pen properly, let alone complete a whole form.

Ludwig sighed heavily, finding the paper he was looking for and pushing square reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He wasn't an unattractive man, sharing many of the same sharp features as his less than illustrious brother Gilbert (if anyone asks their blood relation has nothing to do with said students allowance into the school system,) and crowned with a rakish sweep of blonde hair. His blue eyes, usually either clouded with adoration for the one he loved or set steely with efficient German resolve, raked over the page once more, and he sighed, neat Giovanni suit crinkling a little when he stood.

Looks like he needed to talk to Jones again. Because one could never be too sure.

He would have been lying, he thought to himself, if said he_ disliked_ the man. He was bright, interesting, enthusiastic… traits that Ludwig failed to express himself, but understood the value of, even respected, if he had had enough beers. This bloke knew his stuff, and besides that one unfortunate glitch, had an excellent teaching record. What was there to say, the man oozed charisma. It leaked off of him, he positively _stunk _of it.

Well, that and 'Axe clix.' (Which, unbeknownst to Ludwig, Alfred believed to be the pinnacle of manly musks.)

The only thing that actually bothered Ludwig about his new hire, was how utterly _American_ he was.

He was yet to see the flags and freshly re-arranged classroom, but you didn't need to be psychic to know that when he did, he wasn't going to want to dance a merry jig about it. In the good sir Vargas' eyes, Alfred couldn't have been more of a patriot if he had a mullet and shat the president.

He found it all a little in-your-face and blatant really, but he wasn't going to complain.

Down the stairs and to the right, Alfred's designated classroom. He could hear the loud, confident laugh he immediately recognised as his employees. The sound conjured up memories of a firm handshake and an enthusiastic interviewee, a man who was genuinely passionate about his job, maybe even borderline obsessed with it.

Ah, Ludwig realised. That must be why I like him so much. We are both a part of the "we-get-off-on-our-careers-club."

_Us perverts gotta stick together!_

Ludwig smiled inwardly at his tasteless and mostly exaggerated little joke. He probably wouldn't have found it funny usually, but had eaten a particularly delightful wurst sandwich earlier that day, and good sausage tended to have that effect on him, so there you go.

"There were no _actual _trains." Alfred proclaimed, quite excitedly. "It was just called the underground railroad."

"and I suppose next you're going to tell me it wasn't underground either?" the teasing response was in a voice he recognised very faintly, and it wasn't until Ludwig had rapped on the door and nudged it open, that he saw it was Matthew, that really quiet friend of Gilbert's, who was sitting opposite the desk with an open textbook on his lap.

Alfred looked up; he had been sitting quite messily, slumped back in his chair, knees bent, feet resting on the edge of the desk. There was a large splodge of ink on his lower lip, from where he had chewed a pen and it broke. "Oh, hey Ludwig what can I do you for?"

"I need to talk to you, about some matters relating to your prior situation."

He sighed, bright smile sliding off his face, and sat up straight in his seat. The thing creaked, and Ludwig winced, unsure it would hold the man's weight.

"Haven't we talked about it enough?"

"No." lips pressed into a firm line, Ludwig stepped into the room and waved the form in hand around a little to enforce his point. "I have just found this, and I would like to ask a few more questions."

Those blue eyes rolled. Alfred Jones turned to his student and gestured for him to close the book.

"Sorry Matty, you had better go. But if you have any other questions feel free to ask me tomorrow, okay?"

"'Kay." Matthew nodded and stood, shooting Ludwig a week smile as he slipped his book into his satchel. "Thanks for the help."

"Not a problem, thanks for paying attention in class."

Another smile, and the teen took his bag on and headed for the door.

"See you tomorrow Matty."

"Yes sir."

And with that he was gone, leaving the two older men in the room.

"I see you got the Bonnefoy boy to talk to you." Ludwig commented. "Good job. He's usually really quiet. Especially with teachers."

"Really?" a faint crease pulled Alfred's brow. "He seemed pretty bright to me."

Ludwig shrugged and thrust the paper in question forward for Alfred to see. The bell, signalling the end of school day, resounded in the room and every other nook and cranny in the old building.

"Well, in any case Alfred, I was hoping you could look at this again, clarify a few more things for me."

Alfred sighed, rolling unnaturally cerulean eyes.

"Yes yes, okay. What would you like to know?"

…

I don't own hetalia or the characters.


	3. TWO superfluous smut now included!

_A/N_

_I make no airs and graces for myself._

_This is not a monumental fic. This is trashy, simple, and the plot is going to be pretty much incest porn. There __is __ no underlying themes, nothing to distinguish this from a shitty paperback mills and boon you buy from the chemists for five bucks except the fact that I don't own the characters contained herin. It's filled with deaus ex machina and cheesy predictability. No meaning and no point. It's a simple story, updated weekly on Saturdays/Sundays, and it takes no remarkable talent to write. _

_But face it. If the audience wanted brilliant, life changing fiction they would be reading classic authors and artistic literature. Not fanfics. _

_XD Hi-five! _

…

Gilbert and Matt sat outside of Wendy's, sharing a big dish of lemon sorbet and giggling at the woman at the table next to them. The one with cankles and a beard.

"Look at her… munching her way through that sundae like a motherfucker. Om nom nom sundae, prepare to be eaten!"

It wasn't even funny, but Matthew snorted obnoxiously and unintentionally anyway, making a disgustingly pig like noise and clapping his hand over his mouth in surprise. Both boys began laughing harder, and beard-zillia shot them both a filthy look before creaking to her feet and hobbling away.

"Oh God…" Gilbert wiped a joyous tear from his eye. "Look at her ass… its like jell-o!"

"Shut up Gilbert, you will put me off my sorbet."

"My sorbet, I paid for it faggot." He jerked the spoon from Matt's slim hand and jammed a large dollop into his mouth. Matthew pulled a face.

"I hope that gives you brainfreeze."

"Gee, thanks." Gilbert swallowed and passed the spoon back. He had a dribble of sorbet on his chin, which he wiped away with the sleeve of his shirt. "So anyway, you never told me about how class went. With the new teacher."

Matthew shuffled a little in his seat and bowed his head. The thought of Alfred, with his smile and friendly eyes made his chest feel all fluttery.

"Oh, you know… okay."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. He could tell by the blush on his friends cheeks, the smile threatening to break his face in two and the way his little curly bounced that it had gone more than okay. He'd only ever seen Matthew look like this once, and that was when they had gone to the Aquarium and been allowed to pet the baby polar bears.

"Just okay? You sure he didn't come packing baby rabbits or otters or ducklings in his pant pockets?"

Matt shook his head. "No, his name is Mister Jones, and he's really nice."

"Oh?"

"He's from America, and he's only young. Tall-ish, blonde, electric blue eyes… and he's just… great. I like him. A lot." A happy sigh. "And he remembered my name! Called me Matty the whole class."

"Really now?" Gilbert gave matt a look of critical analysis whilst The oblivious teen spooned a large helping of sorbet into his mouth and straightened up his little hat. He could see his reflection in the ice cream parlour window, and for a moment almost didn't recognise himself. The light in his eyes was pleasant and unfamiliar.

"Did you actually have the guts to talk to him then? Or did you sit at the back of the class and drool at him from afar."

"I wasn't drooling at him!" Matt hit Gilbert's arm indignantly, voice spiking in pitch a little. "And yes I did thank you very much. He was really lovely."

"Matthew's got a boyfriend…" the teasing, sing-song whisper made Matt's face explode into a blush. "Matthew and Mr. Jones sitting in a tree…"

"Shut up Gilbert he's not my boyfriend!" another sharp whack and Gilbert laughed at the blush on Matthew's face.

"Sure sure. I will just pretend I believe you, and we can carry on our normal lives."

The two boys lapsed into an amiable silence.

Gilbert occupied himself with napkins, setting the corners alight with the lighter he carried in his back pocket and blowing them out again or they could completely consume the tissue and his hand. He ran his tongue across his lip in concentration and Matthew tried not to stare in revulsion at the metal bell-bar through his tongue. Today he wore a dice, silver and winking a six as Gilbert focused and the thing rolled lazily between his lips.

"Gilbert could you not." Matthew finished his sorbet and his friend looked up in surprise. "That thing is really gross."

"What thing, this thing?" he jiggled his dice and wiggled it and matt pulled a face.

"Yes that thing. I'm amazed Mr Vargas hasn't killed you for it."

A soft snort answered his comment, and Gilbert blew out his napkin again before screwing it up and dropping it carelessly into Matthew's empty sorbet dish.

"Which one? Feli thinks its 'cool' and my brother doesn't even know I have it." He shrugged and reached for a new napkin, from the dispenser on the table between them. "Brothers." He grumbled. "Not worth the effort." He had folded the new napkin in a triangle and lit his lighter again when he remembered something important he had meant to ask.

"On that note." The lighter clattered back on the table, "What's the haps with your one?"

Matthew shrugged and let himself fall limp in the chair.

"Dunno don't care." He mumbled, watching a couple of pigeons larking merrily in the sky. "Dad wants me to come to that stupid dinner they are having, but I don't even want to. What's the point? He probably won't even like or notice me."

"It's worth a try." Gilbert offered and Matt crinkled his nose.

"I have to give my dad an answer tonight, and I think I might go." He sighed heavily, and wished for a split second he had another sorbet. He was still hungry. "But I won't like it."

Gilbert nodded and flicked his lighter once again.

"No-one said you had to like it."

That much was true.

…

"Hey dad, I'm just stopping by to say hello."

"What for? Are you after more money?" a grouchy looking Arthur Kirkland looked up from his newspaper when his youngest son walked through the door of his house. Matthew rolled his eyes and removed his hat. He knew his dad hated him wearing caps and such inside.

"No, I'm not after more money. Is mama home?"

"She's in the kitchen." Arthur returned his attention to the newspaper, the perfect picture of a stuffy old man in his grey sweater and checkered slippers. "Tell her, her movie is on in ten minutes. And oh," he held out his hand to halt Matthew again. "Have you decided about-"

"Yeah I will come." Matthew cut him off and waved his hand. "Whatever."

His father gave no response, so shrugging; he clattered through the house down the hallway, into the large country style kitchen at the back. His mother was indeed there, mixing chocolate pudding with a wooden spoon.

In very much the same way her husband was the epitome of grumpy fathers, Francesca Bonnefoy was the pinnacle example of a French miss. Pretty, fashionable… all those sweet things one would not expect a man like Arthur to tolerate, let alone find appealing.

"Hey mama."

"Oh." The little woman, half the age of her husband and very, very beautiful, jumped to hear her sons voice, dropping the spoon in the pot of simmering chocolate and spinning on stockinged feet. Curled blond hair, some ringlets escaping the messy pony she had tied with a blue ribbon at the nape of her neck, bounced with excitement. Lips painted petal pink broke a flawless face as she hurried forward to plant numerous kisses all over her baby boy's face.

"Matthieu! Mon doux petit! How was your day?"

"It was great mama, thanks." For the first time ever, he could say such without it being a lie. Francesca smiled and tweaked his cheek with neatly manicured fingers. The dress she wore was pale blue and utterly Parisian. Like something out of a garden party magazine she swept over to the stove and removed the pudding from the heat, pouring it into a large bowl waiting on the counter-top.

"That's excellent my sweetheart. Come over here then, and tell mama all about it."

Matthew set his satchel down on the floor by the yucca plant and sidled up to the breakfast bar, pulling up a seat.

"Well, we got a new history teacher today…he's really lovely. I like him a lot."

"Oh, how delightful. Here, would you like to lick the bowl?" she offered Matthew the scraped out pot of pudding. He took it happily and ran his finger around the rim.

"Merci, mama. Anyway, after school I went to get ice cream with Gilbert. I'm on my way to my flat now, but thought I would stop by to say hello."

"Oh, wonderful darling." Francesca lifted the bowl of pudding and carried it over to the waiting refrigerator. "Would you like a bit of pocket money while you are here? There's a few pounds in the cookie jar by the jug." She nodded to a large, phone box shaped jar Matthew recognised as having brought his dad for Christmas at age seven. He shook his head regretfully.

"I would… but dad will get all pissy with me again."

"Nonsense, he doesn't need to know." Placing the dessert where it belonged and nudging the fridge door shut, Francesca bustled over and nipped a crisp twenty pound note from amongst keys, coins and other nick-nacks that would be better in an organised draw or perhaps on keyhooks in the hallway, as opposed to a cookie jar on the kitchen counter. "Here, buy yourself something nice. No cigarettes!" she raised a warning finger and matt smiled sheepishly as he took the money being offered.

"I'm trying to quit…"

"Trying isn't enough dear, you know that." She licked her lips and placed satisfied hands on her hips. "Anyway, would you like to help me clean the dishes? My movie I want to watch is on soon, and I might miss the start otherwise.

"Sure." Matt picked up the pot he had stripped of dessert and walked around the bar, to the sink. "You dry I'll wash?"

And it was like so, four minutes later and elbows deep in greasy sudsy water, Matthew found himself remembering that thing he had been meaning to ask his mother for almost a week now, but kept forgetting.

"Mum ?"

"Oui oui ?"

"Say someone I know was in love with someone, but that person didn't even know they exist. What should that person do to make the other notice them?" he frowned and ceased scrubbing at a particularly stubborn coffee ring in a Winnie the Pooh mug. "I figured you'd be the one to ask, because, well…"

He knew, as well as his father and most of the other men associated with her, that Francesca was a lady of almost obscene sexuality lurking just below the surface of a housewife's skin. It wasn't something he was proud of, it wasn't something he was sure he had inherited (he hadn't, right? It was hard to tell…) but it was something that came in extremely handy when learning about the birds and the bees, and the 'strange new feelings' he had gotten in his chest whenever he watched 'Sabrina the teenaged witch.'

Melissia Joan Hart had been his first crush. It wasn't something he would readily admit to, but there you go.

"You know about love and stuff right? I mean, I haven't got a clue but… yeah." He finished weakly and resumed scrubbing. "See, I think my friend Silbert has this thing for-"

"What do you mean 'what should they do?' do you mean to imply you don't just know?"

Matthew looked up in shock to hear his mother's voice so distressed. She was standing beside him, baby blue eyes wide, holding the tea towel in her hands and looking rather as though she was going to cry.

"How can you not 'just know' these things Matthieu! You are my _son_!"

Matthew shrugged and Francesca gave a low whine.

"It's not important mama, it's just something I was wondering about-"

"Not important? Not important? Oh my child nothing in life could ever matter more!"

Seized suddenly from behind in a gripping, almost rib cracking hug, Matthew spluttered and unsuccessfully attempted to throw his mother off.

"Shall I teach you the lessons of love, my little sweet? Shall mama find you a girlfriend to seduce and make love to? Would you like me to take you to a sex film or two, so that you can learn what its all about?"

"Mum!" face flaring, shaking his dotting mother off his shoulders, Matthew turned around and met her face to face. For most kids, having the suggestion 'lets go see a porno together' posed to them by their mother was reason enough to call child services. For Matthew Bonnefoy, it was… regrettably normal.

"I don't need a girl friend and I do NOT want to see a porn movie with you!"

Francesca pouted, a three year old child who had just been deprived of a favoured toy, and twirled a blonde curl around a pretty finger.

"But Matthieu…"

"No." he waved his finger, to enforce the point, and returned his attention to washing dishes. "All I wanted to know is how to get noticed by someone else. That's it."

She sighed, wrapping slender arms around her own waist in self pity for raising such a romance-impaired son.

"Darling, if you cant figure that out for yourself then you don't deserve to know."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

…

Alfred loosened his tie, relaxing into the sofa occupying the lounge area of his new apartment and feeling rather accomplished. The space that had that morning been furnished with boxes and black sacks of rubbish, was now looking pretty brilliant if he did say so himself. Cushy couch, coffee table, wide screen TV and four gaming consoles. The good old American flag (he had a suitcase full of them he intended to stick up every place he occupied) on the wall above the dining table truly marked the place as his home. A satisfied sigh left him, and he was almost tempted to ignore his phone buzzing for attention in his pocket in favour of flicking on the TV and watching a nice A-Team marathon instead.

In the end, he went with both, pulling out his phone and sliding onto the floor so he could access the drawer under the coffee table, where he had jammed all his DVDs.

"Yello? You got Alfred."

"Alfred? It's me."

The familiar voice stirred complex emotions in the man; all he could respond with was a grunt. He flicked through three seasons of the Simpsons, one of M*A*S*H and a box set of How I Met Your Mother before finding the worn and treasured A-team case for which he was searching.

"Dinner on the eighteenth, I asked you to bring a plate for three, but I've just spoken to your little brother and turns out he will be eating with us too. Okey doke."

"Mm. right oh." Alfred swallowed bile at the mention of his 'little brother'. The brat he had never met, the brat he didn't even know the name of, and who was solely responsible for his father leaving him all those years ago to marry his hussy in gay old _paree._ No doubt a tryhard punk school reject with more piercings than a pincushion and hair that ate his face, Alfred considered putting some kind of laxative in the food he was supposed to fix for the kid, but decided against it. For the sole reason he had none.

"Anyway, I will see you then, okay? Six o'clock."

"18 hundred hours, got it dad."

"Bye then."

"Yeah, bye."

Alfred sighed and dropped his phone, no longer feeling up to watching A-team.

He decided on an early night, and didn't bother packing his DVDs away when he left the sitting room behind.

…

"Ohhh~"

The body lying in the fold-out bed was that of a young man, his sheets tangled around his waist, his back arched dramatically against the mattress beneath him.

"Oh God… yes… yes…"

Unfocused Blue-hued lilac eyes, no longer hidden behind hefty glasses, fluttered shut. Matthew spread his legs a little wider and pressed the toy further into his body, sighing blissfully when it nudged a sensitive, warm spot inside.

The soft hum of his vibrator wasn't something he had to be conscious of; he lived alone in his tiny three room flat above Harcorts real estate offices overlooking the Thames at the insistence of his mother. Apparently, he was old enough now and it gave his parents more time to be intimate. He didn't take it personally, once again, it was one of those things that having Francesca as a mother did to a boy.

Like the quiet, unarguing child he was, he took it. And decided after a little while that he rather liked it, actually.

The perks far outweighed the inconvenience of having to do his laundry at the Laundromat down the road.

A fumbling thumb pushed the switch on the base up a notch, and a gasping shudder shook Matthew's frame. The sensation of humming from within tingled across every inch of his skin, seized the muscles between his legs into a delicious little knot, and begged heat to flood his lower body until it built to a fiery, gratifying swell of tension between trembling thighs. The small smile that curved deliciously glossed lips was evidence of the guiltless enjoyment Matthew felt in that moment. The regular, comfortable indulgence he felt was as normal as breathing, masturbating was to him something more than relief or escape, it was a delicious and personal gift that gave back a little of the confidence daily life stole from his chest, it was a choice he could make every night for himself, and need not take the feelings of another into account whilst doing so.

"Shall I masturbate tonight? Am I in the mood?"

And if he felt like it, he did. If he didn't, he did not. And that was that, simple as pie.

The day had left him feeling contented overall when he arrived home, the vision of the evening sun setting over the river creating warm fuzzy feelings in the pit of his stomach. Nothing would make him happier, he had decided, than a glass of wine and pancakes for dinner, followed by a nice comedy movie and a game of self pleasure before settling in for an early night. The clock on the chest at the end of his fold-out bed read 9.30pm, the television was still warm with the static it had collected while previously running, and a syrup covered plate and fork rested on the table in the kitchen, waiting to be washed in the morning.

Yes, Matthew had had a truly wonderful day.

He shuffled down the mattress a little, trying to get his shoulders into a more comfortable position, and slid the vibe slowly in and out at a pace that was teasing, but nothing much more. Huffing heavily, wishing for a moment he had something to rut against as opposed to inserting the toy manually, he pressed the thing in as far in as it would go and let his hips fall back to the mattress heavily.

Sometimes he liked to just relax into this feeling. The steady shiver sending delightful sparks along his spine and arms, musing carefully over how he could remain like this for as long as he wanted without being disturbed. Patient, well controlled hands ran up and down the inside of his opened thighs, fingertips savouring the feel of satin skin melting to delight beneath his own caress. He touched himself slowly, pulsing a loose hand along a rigid length, rolling practiced hips into his grip and leaving off just before he came to tease, fingertip rubbing the very head of his erection and smearing pearly precum across the delicate skin that slid so smoothly down in the heat of arousal.

Breathless and incredible.

Matthew moaned gently, inserting finger and thumb inside himself to withdraw his slick toy from his body and set it carefully beside him on the bed. The middle and index fingers of his right hand immediately took its place, and he prodded around a little bit inside in an attempt to find his G-spot himself.

A frustrated little utterance, his fingers were just short of brushing it, he withdrew them and resumed stroking his cock instead, searching calmly through his mind for an image to bring himself to climax to.

Natalya, in his journalism class. Scary, bitchy, but very pretty. He didn't like to use her, she wasn't a particularly pleasant girl, but had done so once or twice in the past anyway because he simply felt in the mood.

Not tonight, however.

How about her sister he didn't know the name of? The one with the huge breasts and always shot him a semi-piteous smile when she thought no-one else was looking. Matthew wasn't sure… those boobs put him off. He had long ago decided that having sex face planted amongst mounds of wobbling flesh was not one of his fetishes.

No, none of his classmates would do tonight. He cast his thoughts to celebrities and musicians he fancied. He'd always had a soft spot for Golden era beauties like Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Munroe. Look alikes were good too, and he had quite a bit of the hots for Renee Zelwegger as Roxy Hart.

But he decided against them too, a little anxious now. He could feel his orgasm approaching and wanted to fantasize at least a little bit about someone before it hit. After all, pleasure for the sake of pleasure was nice but as a man, he had horns too. They had to be sharpened once in a while, and if that meant 4azzing to a long dead actresse's picture then so be it.

Strangers then, he thought of strangers. The cankle lady sprung to mind but he beat the image away fiercely least he go flaccid in his palm. The girl who worked at the bookstore down the road wasn't bad… or maybe the girl who had walked into him on the bus yesterday, with long black hair and a hello kitty backpack.

No, no, no… still none of these people felt right! What was he in the mood for that night? Something new. Something happy and bubbly that matched his feeling at that particular moment. The first tickling leak of relief was seeping through his core, he had to find someone, quick.

Deciding fuck it all, hoping like hell he wouldn't cum to his mothers face or something creepy like that, Matt threw himself blindly into orgasm on a Russian roulette. Hundreds of faces, his whole memorized gallery worth, flickering before his eyes until slowing and resting finally on one chosen at random as the peak of his release hit.

Hips spasming, powerful clenches of heat wrenching his body, matt rode it out with a loud and blissful cry no-one would ever expect him capable of. It was raw and saturated with delight, light and breathy, sleek and intimate, yet also incredibly base and wild. Hair tossing, breathing ragged, His hand fisted the last of the cum ribboning from his softening cock and he let himself fall limp, the last tremors washing over him and sending him into a fit of deliriously happy giggles. It had felt good. Really good.

Sated, still chuckling to himself, he straightened out his sheets and flopped down into his bed, ignoring the vibrator still resting beside him. He would clean it and put it away in the morning, he felt much too good to bother with it now.

END CHAP2

_Yeah, see, told you. :I pointless wank scene in there. let me just inform you all that it adds nothing to the plot. i just put it in because i enjoy writing smut.  
>thanks again to my wonderful beta titoes (link to her profile on my page) for doing all this beta-ing in like half an hour, ready for posting Saturday eveingSunday morning. I think I almost killed her with shock about that masturbation scene at the end, and she was an über good sport for not freaking out on me about it. Honest to God. _

_I do not own the characters in hetalia._

.


	4. THREE

_So yesterday I realised that on one occasion in chapter two I had misspelled 'Gilbert' as 'Silbert'. I laughed or like ten mins and decided that it was too goddamned funny to change, so it stays. Fucking boss. XD_

…

"Morning class." Alfred bustled into his first period late, stack of books slipping from his grip, cup of steaming coffee precariously balanced atop a pile of papers and the roll. "Sorry I'm late."

He dropped the contents of his arms onto the desk and glanced around the room. The kids seated at his floating desk groups were all in various states of consciousness. From asleep at the back, to alert and possibly on speed at the front by the door.

One by one, the students fell silent. Which was something Alfred wasn't used to. In the states he used to take a small whistle to class, in order to grab the student's attention. "You're a new lot, aren't you?" he grinned and pushed his bangs carelessly off his face. "Excellent. Well, if you will all take out your history books and turn to page sixteen, we will read the introduction together. How does that-"

"Sir?" a loud, sarcastic voice interrupted him. His brows furrowed a little, but he dismissed it, turning his attention to the culprit.

"Yes?" he asked the intelligently featured boy with silvery blonde hair and dark eyes.

"This is a form class."

Alfred paused, trying to make sense of what he had just been told.

"What?"

"A form class. You know? Notices, team building, health. All that fun shit no-one cares about."

The frown creasing a smooth and pale brow deepened, Alfred still didn't quite understand what was being said. A quick glance at his teaching schedule said that, yes, he was definitely supposed to be here. Room 2L, that was this. Formerly the class taken by Antonio Carriedo now on paternity leave… last minute addition to Alfred's permanent schedule.

"Form class?" he repeated dumbly, unable to make sense of what that meant. "What? I'm sorry, I'm confused."

And the majority of his 'form class' dissolved into giggles.

"He means homeroom." A soft, startlingly familiar voice from the doorway left Alfred fumbling to pick up his schedule he had dropped. Crouched down low and picking up papers, he could see only a pair of tatty what-may-have-been-girls-tap-shoes clacking neatly toward him, as opposed to the boy wearing them and the astonished eyes of every class member turned to watch him bend down and assist. Perhaps that was a good thing, because it gave Matthew time to mentally prepare himself for having those eyes on him again.

"Um, thanks Matty." Alfred stood back up, reaching out for the single sheet of paper Matthew had salvaged and smiling warmly. Matt returned the grin, watered down and shy in his own special way, a pleased little blush staining cashmere cheeks.

"Welcome, sir." He hitched his bag over the other shoulder and tapped his way to the empty seat behind the silver-haired boy; the one who had spoken first.

_Homeroom_ teacher?

Alfred didn't remember agreeing to that! When had he agreed to that? Had the principle screwed up another one of his applications? Goddamn, if that man didn't have his secretary he would be useless.

In the seat beside Gilbert, Matthew began unpacking his things, ignoring the sharp jabs to his shoulder the other was administering with a wooden ruler.

"Sleep in, matt?" he whispered teasingly. Matthew scowled, putting his pencil case down on the desk and pushing his glasses up his nose.

"So what if I did?"

"You weren't kidding about the new guy." Gilbert carried on as if he hadn't heard his friend's response. "Real American that one. Sounds like a male Dolly Parton."

Matt couldn't argue that, as much as he disliked country music and all those associated with it. Instead, he unzipped his pencil case and withdrew a biro.

"What do you think of him?" he asked. Gilbert shrugged.

"Seems nice enough. A bit of a dumbass though."

And to someone who hadn't seen him through Matthew's eyes, rambling confidently and enthusiastically about the abolition of slavery and underground rail roads and Jim Crow laws, the man standing at the front of the room sifting helplessly through reams of paper and wearing a excessively dunce expression could indeed have been the dumbest ass who ever lived.

…

Matthew lingered again after form class, for reasons he couldn't explain to Gilbert when he asked.

"Just go!" he insisted, pushing the albino boy gently forward, toward the door. "Go harass Roderich or something."

"Matthew!" mock horror, Gilbert leaned backward and clapped his hand over his chest. "Encouraging me to bully another student? How utterly low, base and malicious of you!"

"Shut up!" the classroom was almost empty, Mr Jones was at his computer, not paying attention to the small argument the two were having in the front row. "Just leave! Take my lighter, go stuff a toilet bowl with paper and set it alight."

The sharp glint on gilberts red eye, he was quite the fan of pyro-technical mischief.

"Deal." He jammed out a hand, Matt slapped his cigarette lighter into the waiting palm and realised he had approximately ten minutes before the school fire alarms went off. This was good, it meant he didn't have time to waste standing around and letting himself get nervous. He would just go for it, jump right in.

Don't think about the fact that he was about to approach more or less a stranger and start a conversation about an indistinct topic.

And now he was thinking about it.

Fantastic.

Smoothing his hair, taking a deep breath to calm the fierce rippling of his heartbeat, he sidled up to Alfred's desk and cleared his throat.

No response, the teacher was really intent on what he was doing. Matthew, forcing himself not to turn around and run away, tried clearing his throat once more.

Success. Alfred was jerked from his trance, glancing up at Matt and completely ignoring the red 'you loose' flashing obnoxiously on the front page of 'virtual-pong-dot-com'.

"Matthew. Hello." He exited the site quickly, trying to look as dignified and teacher like as possible. "What's up? Is this about what that little shit who sat behind you did just before?"

Matt frowned, trying to remember… oh yeah. Ivan Braginski had decided it would be funny to stick a post it reading 'Property of Ivan' on the back of his head when he wasn't looking. A fairly normal occurrence, actually, though Alfred found it shocking. He would get used to Ivan and his possessive post-its though. Everyone did eventually.

"No, it's not that." Matthew shuffled his feet anxiously, trying to find an excuse. He'd never done something like this before, and it had certainly _seemed_ like a good idea when he had been comfortable in his desk listening to his teacher read the dull notices.

Now, not so much.

"I, uh... just was wondering… I, uh…" Oh God. What to say? There were so many choices. He could ask of yesterday's lesson, or tomorrow's lesson. About homework or the notices or anything… too many choices, he kicked himself internally when he couldn't bring himself to choose one. "I just wanted to say… um…good lesson?"

He winced, blushing with all the vengeance of a shy kid suddenly remembering he was shy, wondering if it was too much to ask god to smite him then and there.

That was a bad conversation starter.

In fact, that was worse than bad. That was positively car-crash and he knew it.

Alfred was… somewhat taken aback.

"I uh…" he glanced at his disorganised papers. "I only read the notices."  
>"Yeah. And you did a good job! It was really fun. And educational!" Matthew thought for a moment, the look on Alfred's face was one of faint confusion, not particularly encouraging. His heart sunk like a rock when he realised the next words were out of his mouth already, without him even noticing.<p>

"It was like, funducat…ion…al… Oh my God."

Well, now he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Neat.

Alfred's eyebrows flew straight up, almost lifting right off his face. He studied the boy before him, who had just buried a cherry red face in a pair of shaking hands and looked like he might just melt, with narrowed eyes. The kid looked even cuter today than yesterday, he realised, when he was all blushing and awkward and-

Alfred told his brain to shut up, and leaned forward in his desk to tug on Matt's sleeve.

"What?" he asked, wanting to hear a repeat, just in case he had misheard. "I didn't understand…"

Matthew shook his head, unable to speak thanks to the golf ball sized knot of nerves in his throat. That, and the fact he thought if he were to open his mouth, he would spew. Which was if possible an even worse look than his current one.

"Oh…" comprehension, as with most empathy related mental processes, dawned slowly for Alfred. Matthew could hear his brain switching and grinding and making connections, maybe even jumping to conclusions

_The horror!_

Beneath a tousled head of dark blonde hair.

"Oh… right…" Al nodded absentmindedly. "You just… oh… I getcha." He laughed lightly, mostly in relief. "Well, thank God for that. For a moment there I thought you were taking the piss out of me."

"What? No!" matt was shocked enough by this to snap his head up, eyes wide behind slightly fogged lenses. "Of course I wasn't! I would never…"

"Shush, shush. Yeah, I know that. It's okay." Al flicked his hair off his face. "sid'down, if you want to have a chat then. Don't be embarrassed. I'm not gunna eat you."

"… You wha'?" the younger boy forgot his embarrassment in the midst of bemusement.

"Sit down, here." A space was promptly cleared on the desk beside the laptop. "Take a seat."

"I… don't understand…"

Alfred rolled his eyes.

"You came over here 'cause you wanted to talk to me right? Not about anything in particular?"

Soft waves of blonde bounced when Matthew nodded his head. The blush staining his cheeks was fading, but still prominent. "It's not why you think, I swear, I just…" he shrugged hopelessly, and despite the squirming feeling in his gut when he did-so, raised his eyes to gaze at Alfred's kind face. "I dunno… I'm kind of shy, but I like you a lot. You're nice and passionate about what you do. I like it."

"Matty, you barely know me." Alfred struggled to keep a straight face, the huge stupid grin shining beneath the surface of a serious but friendly expression evident in his eyes despite his best efforts. He had never really had a student who gave a damn about his lessons or his existence in general.

Well, actually, he had. But there was no way in hell he was going _there_ again.

"So how can you say something like that so easily?"

"I know. But I also know a lot about people. Like, just because I'm shy doesn't mean I don't know how to read people or stuff like that. Like…" he shut his eyes, getting kind of pissed with his speech and that irritating 'like' that always, like his stupid blush reflex, cropped up when he was nervous.

"You like the word 'like'?" Alfred let a small smile flatter Matt's words, and earned a weak but scathing look in response.

"Hey, I'm trying to be nice to you. Take it like a man."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He flexed his arms in a hero-esque manner. "How manly would you like? I can go anywhere from Mika to Batman."

Matthew snorted, losing his train of thought. "Batman's not that manly."

"Oh yeah?" his teacher grinned proper now, sitting tall and placing fisted hands rigidly on his hips. His chest too, puffed out rather as though he thought he was the shit. "I kick supervillan ass on a daily basis, I am able to leap the highest building, I have no real parents. I AM the hero that Gotham deserves."

It was stupid, it was unexpected, and it was so utterly _American_ matt decided, that it deserved at least a small round of applause. Laughing without noticing (and fairly loudly too,) he edged a little closer to the desk, hitching his ass onto the sitting space Alfred had cleared for him.

"God, sir, its _Superman_ who leaps tall buildings, not Batman."

"Oh." Firm, proud shoulders slumped. "Dang. Are you sure? Could have sworn it was Batman."

"Batman can't even fly." Beaming radiantly now, casting a light onto his face so angelic Alfred had to double take as he sat back down, Matt slipped his satchel off and dropped it on the floor. His glasses were fogged and finger-printed, while he waited for Alfred to adjust his shirt from all those heroics, he slipped them off and wiped them on the bottom of his plain, and incredibly long, grey tee. He had to reach almost to his knees to hitch it up. The belt he bore around a thin waist was in the way, and the cloth beneath stretched awkwardly so the neckline ended up sitting crooked. Alfred heard him swear under his breath, and glanced up in surprise.

"What-did you just say?" he stared firmly into glasses-less eyes, noting distantly that the colour… Oh God the _colour_. He'd never seen anything like it before…

_And his eyelashes were so long and spindly. Like an angel's…_

"Huh?" Matt put his glasses back on, and the man looking at him blurred back into focus. "I said 'fuck.'"

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Al's responding lip quirk was fairly dashing. "You don't look like the swearing type."

Approximately two hundred times more comfortable now than when he started (Alfred was just… he had that effect! It was weird…), Matt shrugged.

"I don't look like a lot of things. But that doesn't mean I'm not."

"Yeah… for example, right now, you don't look very shy at all."

In the hall, the sound of students clattering to their first proper classes echoed. Alfred had free period, Matt had physics which was his worst and most hated class. Neither was in a hurry and Matt for one knew that within about four minutes everyone in the school would be assembling at the fire assembly point anyway. The two took a moment to size each other up then, trying to read each others thoughts and pick an appropriate response to that statement.

Matt realised the casual way he was sitting, the absences of too big of a blush on his face, and even his smile, were not of a shy kid at all. They were of the boy who had, one night with Gilbert, ordered a blended a Big Mac from McDonalds and drunk it despite the weird looks they were both getting. They were of the boy who had asked his mum for a vibrator for his fifteenth birthday, and the hockey player who had lost two teeth and broken someone else's leg all in the space of one game. It was surprising how easily Alfred found his way in, but not unpleasant. A little scary… but welcoming.

"Well, I told you. I like you." he sighed dramatically. "But if you want I can go back to being the weirdo who uses the word 'funducational' in sentences."

"But it was cute!" Alfred poked out his tongue, Matt pulled a face.

"It was bloody embarrassing is what it was."

Their conversation was cut short by the abrasive clang of a fire-alarm, screeching through the whole school and shocking Alfred into a standing position.

"What's that?" he asked, watching his company slide off his desk and land neatly with a small click on the floor.

"Fire alarm. I should go."

"Uh, yeah, okay. Wait, do I have to come?"

Already halfway to the door, Matt turned back and nodded. "Duh, yes."

"Right, right."

His scatterbrained teacher hurried after him, pulling the classroom door shut and merging into the sea of students flooding the corridor.

…

"Well. Good job." Matthew took the lighter Gilbert handed him, and his friend shrugged fairly humbly. If you could use the word humble in relation to Gilbert, that is.

"Yeah, everything just pretty much came together…"

The panic caused within the school was somewhere around a nine on a scale to one to apocalypse. Three fire trucks, a complete evacuation, and an _extremely_ flustered headmaster later, everyone in the school was assembled on the field and various form teachers were sorting them into respective classes, for roll-call and dismissal.

"Do you reckon you're gunna get busted for it?"

The two wove through the crowd, where Mr. Jones and his bouncy flick were sticking up quite predominantly over the heads of all the juniors by the far side of the football field.

"Na, not unless they had cameras or some shit in the bathroom. Oh my God you should have seen it though Matt. It was so fucking _awesome_." Gilbert's eyes glazed at the memory. A bowl of fire, smoke curling to the window in the cubicle.

Matthew shook his head in hopeless amusement.

"You have issues."

"Whatever." a casual shrug told him quite concisely that Gilbert didn't care. "How did your talk with your boyfriend go?"

"He's not my boyfriend!" a subtle pink lit Matthew's cheeks, they edged closer to their huddled class group and Alfred, trying to listen to whatever it was the vice principle was saying _and_ organise everyone into a single file line, raised his hand to beckon them closer. "He's a boy, who just happens to be my friend. And it went fine. Thanks for asking."

"Boyfriend. Faggot."

"Oh shut up Gilbert." Matthew took his place in line and Gilbert fell dutifully behind him, making sure to shove Roderich as hard as he could as he did so.

"Hey! Fuck you!" the boy tucked a lock of dark hair back and scowled, cheeks blotching with furious roses of colour.

"You wish, cunt." Gilbert dismissed him with a toss of his head.

"Hey, you, don't say that kinda shit in my classroom yo." Alfred, walking past and ticking names off on the list Ludwig had given him, heard, and pointed fairly authoritively. "Geeze Louise, you motherfuckers have mouths like assholes."

A giggle passed through the class, and even Gilbert seemed amused. Matthew covered his mouth discretely, and pretended not to notice Alfred pat his head affectionately as he passed by, though on the inside it sent him squealing in glee.

"Right, oh everyone." Reaching the head of the ragged line, noticing Ivan sticking another 'property of Ivan' post it on a fellow student and nipping it off him in a flourish, Al raised his voice over the sound of the crowd and other teachers calling to their respective groups. "Apparently, you lot are all dismissed. So you can piss off home or go to town or whatever. I'm still getting paid for today so it's all good. Thanks for coming in, sorry for screwing up with the whole 'form class' shit, and I will see you all tomorrow, okay?"

A fairly loud cheer met this announcement, and the line was already dissolving, the first class to be formally released from school, when his voice was raised once more.

"And Gilbert Beilshmidt, the principle would like to talk to you."

Matt laughed aloud; Gilbert looked rather as though someone had poked him in the mouth with an old trout.

How unfortunate.

…

The soft clicking of the clock in the school's reception was harsh and agitating. It got under gilberts skin terribly, and left him clawing his jeans in anxiety.

Ten minutes.

Twenty minutes.

Half an hour…

He shuffled and squirmed in his stiff plastic chair, unable to get comfortable, unable to distract himself from the steady tick of the clock.

It wasn't like he was _scared_, mind you. Guys as awesome as him didn't get scared. He was just a little, discomforted at the thought of what was to come. Discomforted enough to not be able to sit still, to be a little paler than usual, and to have a small knot at the base of his throat that bobbed every time he swallowed.

Silvery hair, getting a little long and shaggy around the bangs, stuck up at odd angles from where he had raked his fingers through it, the threads on the ripped knees of his levis were picked at steadily, fraying and then dropped to the blue flecked linoleum floor. The smell of school, of old books and sub-par education, was rampant in the small waiting room decorated by only a dusty cabinet with two trophies in it. Both trophies dated back to the eighties, or as far as Gilbert was concerned, pre-history.

He jumped when one of the doors, the one to the principles office, clicked open.

The young man who walked out was not the principal, it wasn't even the secretary. It was the slender, coffee haired boy with a haughty but very attractive face, a small beauty mark on his chin, and a violin case.

"You are in deep shit, Gilbert Beilshmidt." He sighed, glancing briefly at the raggy looking occupant of the room. "This time, they may even kick you out."

His footsteps, daring to carry him to arms reach of the tiger he baited, were light and gently lilted. Gilbert pulled a face and sunk lower in his chair.

"I will kill everything you love."

He meant it.

Roderich simply paused on his walk across the room to the other door and brushed his hair calmly off his face, missing an Alfred-esque lick that quivered perkily from his parting. Gilbert's eyes were drawn to it, and he fought the temptation to give it a hard yank, just to hear the kid scream.

The thought gave him the scrummy-shivers, all the way down his spine.

"Well, that's a little unnecessary."

"You were the dumb cunt who told them it was me, weren't you?" he demanded. Roderich blinked, as though the accusation was offensive to him.

"Um, no. I wasn't."

"Then why were you in there? Telling my brother shit again? Trying to get me expelled?"

"If you must know, I was talking to Mister Vargas about the school ball next month. Although I fail to see how it's any of your business." Roderich's grip on his violin case tightened. "At this rate, you won't even be allowed to go."

"Like hell I'd want to, with motherfuckers like you running around it would be totally un-awesome."

The principles door clicked open again, and a familiar, exceptionally furious blonde beckoned Gilbert inside.

"Gilbert, you get your sorry ass in here now."

…

_A/N: thanks to my beta titoes. :D life saver man. I do not own hetalia._


	5. FOUR which is mostly about Gilbert sorry

**IM SORRYYYYYYY!~ I know I promised updates on SATURDAYS, but regretfully this weekend I will be away and unable to post. So take this early update as my apology instead. OTL updates will return to normal next week. **

**Thanks to my beta, Titoes, for betaing.**

…

Feliciano Vargas wasn't a threatening man.

In truth, it was a bit of a mystery how he came to be principal of anything other than pasta of the month club at Luigi's Italian bistro down the street.

He sat happily in his office, giving Gilbert a friendly wave when he came in, and resumed fiddling with the paperclips scattered across his desk. That morning, he had already sculpted a paperclip kitty and a neat-o model of himself, and he was quite intent on completing his paperclip rendition of Bigfoot before his secretary and partner jammed another pile of boring papers in his face.

Ludwig and his papers. By God…

Ludwig Vargas however, as earlier stated, was quite passionate about discipline and heavy threats. Only he, stalking to take his station behind Feliciano's chair, could darken the atmosphere of a room scented like caramel and decorated with beautiful artwork. Only he could make a teenager want to flee from the spot before a desk creaking with Italian sweets for the sole purpose of consumption by students and paperclip sculptures that were actually pretty darn good, if you were going to be honest about it.

The way he was glaring at his little brother almost made Gilbert regret his actions.

Almost.

The three remained in silence for a whole minute before Ludwig lost his patience.

"Well?" he barked. Feliciano jumped and stabbed his finger with a paper clip. It stung, and his lower lip trembled.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"Bro, I dunno-"

"It's Mister Vargas to you!" Ludwig's palms slammed flat on the desk and whining softly, Feli tugged on his partners shirt hem, pricked finger beading blood, corners of his lips turned down. "And you do so know! You were the piece of work who set the toilet on fire, weren't you? Don't try denying it, one of the kids in your class heard you talking to that friend of yours about it."

Gilbert scowled bitterly, and stared at the floor.

"So?"

"So? What were you thinking! What is wrong with you? Where did I screw up so badly that-"

"Ludwiiig~…"a soft whine, the furious tirade was halted when the headmaster jammed his finger in Ludwig's face. "I hurt my finger."

An expression of bewilderment creased the man's forehead. "… Well what do you want me to do about it?"

"Kiss it better."

Gilbert snorted, and his brother gave him a vicious and absolutely toxic look.

"Not right now Feli, please, I'm trying to-"

"But it _hurts_ Ludwig!"

Gilbert knew his brother well enough to recognise the torn expression on his face. Ludwig was thoroughly embarrassed now, conflicted well and truly, trying to decide between his two great loves.

Feliciano won out when, blushing fiercely even though Gilbert had seen much worse, the vice principal grabbed his partners wrist and administered a small kiss to the wounded finger.

"Alright." He dropped the hand and pretended that it hadn't happened. "As I was saying. You are in deep shit. Just you wait until we get home. By God boy you will be—"

And he was off. Gilbert zoned out completely, casually grabbing one of Feliciano's Italian cookies from the plate on the table and admiring a nice little paper-clip chicken. The cookie was crunchy and golden syrup flavoured. Pretty fucking good, actually.

He finished it and had another. His brother, lecturing no-one wildly, didn't seem to notice.

When a lapse in his reprimand came about, about five or ten minutes later, Gilbert returned his thoughts from good old Roderich and his ball (he was probably going with that girl of his… Eliza-something. Wait, why did Gilbert even care?) to the situation at hand.

"—and that friend of yours too! He just damn lucky that Alfred covered for him or he'd be up for suspension."

"Aren't I up for like, expulsion by now?" Gilbert inquired pleasantly. "Haven't I been for like, a year?"

Ludwig turned a strange shade of red, and Feliciano completed his last sculpture, setting it down on the desk with the others.

"Ve~ Gilbert, you know I'd never expel you."

"Well, don't you think that's kind of unfair? Gilbert asked, tucking his hands into his ass pockets a little more calmly than he felt. "I mean-"

"Gilbert! You know very well why you are still here. And did you listen to a word I said?" Ludwig gripped the back of Feli's chair and glared as hard as he could. "You sit your ass down, we are going to have a long talk about this!"

And they were still in there, arguing, for most of the afternoon.

…

_Chirrup __C__hirrup…_

Gilbird the fat canary, possibly the only creature in existence Gilbert truly cared for besides himself, chirped merrily on his perch among sticky-out silver hair and ruffled his feathers. Beneath him, Gilbert scowled, holding up a stick coated in seeds and honey for his bird to peck at.

"I can't fucking believe it." He grumbled, looking a little bit ridiculous holding a stick above his head. "Of all the retards in the world, of all the lame ass jobs conceivable, he's making me do _that_ one."

"Ah, Gil. You know it might not be that bad." Matt finished his plate of apple pie and set the spoon down with a clink. "Where is your brother, anyway? He wasn't- oh, thanks Mister Vargas."

"Ve~ call me Feli, Matthew." The Italian placed a new plate of pie down on the table and whisked the old one away. "Would you like some pasta too?"

"No thanks." Matthew gave the man a shy smile, unsure if he was completely comfortable calling his headmaster by his first name. Hell, he still called Ludwig 'sir', though he had been to London and Wales, even Germany, with Gilbert and his bro.

"Anyway, Gilbert, he wasn't at dinner."

"I don't care where he is." Gilbert grumbled, waving his brother-in-law away when he scuttled forward with a plate of cake. "And Feli stop it! I'm not happy with you!"

Feliciano looked a little hurt.

"But Gilbert-"

"Shut up!"

Sulking, Gilbert stood. Matt shovelled as much pie into his mouth as he could, before he too stood, and followed his friend out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Stupid jerks…" Gilbert was mumbling. "I'll give them responsibility…"

Gilbird decided he'd had enough complaining and fluttered off to perch on the stair-rail, Matthew rolled his eyes and wiped pie off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You know, you might actually learn to like him Gilbert."

"That's not an issue!" he snapped, reaching the landing and stomping down the hall to his bedroom. "You believe me Matty that that is _not_ the issue."

Matthew's eyebrows arched.

Maybe he did believe it.

Gilbert's bedroom was pretty big, and looked like a small cyclone had hit it. Bed nothing; Gilbert favoured a mattress on the floor. DVDs and video games, the occasional magazine and even a few empty bowls scattered here and there among old clothes and homework. A generic mess, the one every teenage boy coveted, was more or less the theme Gilbert had aimed for and Matthew was quite confident in saying he had achieved it. That's not to say it wasn't impersonal, mind. The posters on the wall, most of them boasting shouty German metal bands Matthew didn't know, were the sort of thing only Gilbert could possibly find inoffensive. He had a big birdcage on the desk, the door of which was always open, and a pinboard tacked with a lot of Axis war medals he had been given by his grandfather years since. His room smelt faintly of beer and old socks, but also a sweeter, more pleasant smell Matthew could only identify as being peppermint. Maybe. He wasn't sure.

"Sid'down." Gilbert grunted, letting himself fall face flat arms splayed on his unmade mattress. "Ignore the beer cans."

"Uh-huh…" Matt found a spare corner on the desk, beside the bird cage, upon which to place his ass. "All good if I sit on the desk?"

"Go ahead, its not like I use it." Gilbert sighed and looked up when a bright chirp heralded gilbird's arrival. "Shut the door after him will you?" he sat up and held out his hand, inviting the little yellow fuzzball to land upon it. Gilbird favoured fluttering around his head though, and he dropped his hand not bothered.

"Mm…" Matthew did, and settled on the corner of the desk.

And the two sat in silence for a little while, matt allowing Gilbert space to brood, Gilbert to pissed off to have anything to say. Eventually though, matt broke the tension.

"So what do you actually have to _do_?"

The look Gilbert gave him almost made him which he hadn't.

"I have to meet with Roderich every Friday evening to plan the stupid cunt dance."

"And he was okay with that?" matt found it hard to believe, what with the time Gilbert and his ass broke Roddy's arm and violin respectively (long story short, Gilbert, after giving the other a hairline fracture, fell over and sat on the thing.) and almost six months of subsequent harassment up until the current date.

"He fucking suggest it." Gilbert flopped backward and sighed. "Cunt just wants to watch me suffer… snooty piece of shit. You're just lucky that teacher of your covered for you matt, or you'd be going down with me too."

Matthew looked up in shock.

"What?"

"Some punk heard you telling me to light the toilet. That Jones guy covered your ass good and proper. I'd thank him, if I were you." Gilbert scratched his nose. "I dunno Matt… I kind of like him. But goddamn I'll kill you if you tell him that."

Matthew grinned, trying to calm the excited flush in his cheeks. Mr Jones had _defended _him? Really?

"Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of it."

…

"Right! So, who remembers the name of the First president of the United states?"

A hand at the back of the class shot up.

"Yes, rainbow suspenders at the back!"

"George Washington."

"Correct! Ten points to Griffindor. American independence day?"

Four or five hands this time, Alfred pointed enthusiastically at Ivan by the window.

"Yeah, post-it boy."

"July 4th."

"What year? Matty!"

"1776." Matthew called back, confident, delighting in blue eyes that flickered over him brief, but almost lingering. Second class with Mr Jones, and somehow he already had the whole class reciting basic American history from Lincoln to Hilary Clinton. It was hard to explain or understand. His genuine enthusiasm lit the room, it slowly snagged the attention of every student and gradually warmed them to whatever it was he had to say. Maybe it was because he was so bouncy and child-like himself. Maybe it was because as soon as he smiled, he had the whole female population of the class head over heals in love. Maybe it was because he was so vibrant and energetic…

Maybe it was because he had brought a really comical cowboy hat to school. An oversized pink one, with purple wool braids, and had been wearing it for the majority of the class.

Whatever the case, he had managed quite successfully to rack up the whole lot of them. His heavy accent became even stronger when he was excited, and his eyes twinkled with the life of a man who had rocked in NYC, partied in Cali-for-nigh-ay, and spent all night bathing in Vegas lights. Matthew could see it, the energy he exuded tore a smile from his lips, it numbed him happily, and left him sitting dozy at his desk, chin resting in his cupped hand. A sleek satin of blonde waves poured across one shoulder, his glasses slipped down his nose.

This didn't escape Alfred. He couldn't deny, no matter how hard he tried, that his eyes fell on the Bonnefoy boy more often than anyone else. Simply because he looked so bright, right? So interested in his lesson and giggling pleasantly, when that stupid hat he wore wobbled on his head.

"1776! Exactly! My god you kids have got it!" he clapped his hands and sat down on the edge of his desk. "Now. Who the fuck wants candy?"

Everyone's hands flew up.

"Really? Awesome. Well, there's a shop on the corner, you have twenty minutes before school is over and you can buy some. Until then, free time."

This announcement was met with confusion. He wasn't going to give out candy?

Apparently not.

It was twelve thirty, and as it were the academy closed lunchtime Wednesdays. This meant that Alfred was pretty thoroughly done teaching for the day. He removed his hat and ruffled his flattened hair. The cow-lick sprung back to attention, and Matthew shook himself from his daze.

"What a cutie!" Matthew could hear Natalya sat behind him whispering. "I wonder if he's got a girlfriend…"

Across the row of desks "Bit of a nutter, isn't he?"

"Yeah, well I heard he got fired from his last job-"

"I wonder where he got that hat-"

"Aww man… I really wanted candy."

Matthew slipped his unopened history book back into his bag, and sighed happily, before jabbing Gilbert in the arm to 'wake' him.

"Not so hard." He grumbled, turning his head on the desk. "I'm not asleep."

"What are you doing then?"

"Staring at Roderich. Maybe he will drop dead if I stare hard enough." Gilbert returned to his malicious staring, Matthew sighed and tugged absentmindedly on a corkscrew of blonde behind his ear. His fringe swished over one eye, and he tossed it aside. That one small strand from his parting, crimped with a small spiral, caught in the bridge of his glasses, but he didn't notice.

"If you don't stop staring at Jones, he might just drop dead too. Watch it."

Gilbert's voice pulled him back from his musings.

"I'm not staring!" Matthew tore his eyes away from his teacher, having only just noticed that yeah, he had been gazing almost sick puppy at the man scribbling something in a large leather covered organiser.

"Whatever."

Gilbert wasn't convinced.

…

Thursday was Matthew's worst day.

Double physics, double stats and advanced French (which wasn't so much difficult as it was boring.) he knew, as he tugged on his jeans and hunted around his flat for that waistcoat his dad got him, that he wasn't about to pass with his typical flying colours. In fact he was so convinced he would do poorly that he had taken to studying for the next topic already. It was with his laptop open on his table, Wikipedia up to 'the discovery of radium' matt ate his breakfast muesli and low fat peach yoghurt, before hurrying out the door to catch his bus in time for school.

On the other side of the city, Gilbert was having a very different morning.

"I won't do it, Gilbird." He lay on his back, still in bed (still on the mattress on the floor) with his naked lower half covered by a sizeable duvet and some throws. His arms, bent up to comb through his hair, were unable to reach the alarm clock that snapped off and made him jump. His head clapped against the wall.

"Fuck!"

"Oh good, you are awake." As if functioning on clockwork, Ludwig pushed open gilberts door, fastening his shirt cuffs ready to go. "Feli and I are going in early today. Can I trust you to get yourself to school alone?"

Probably not, but rubbing his head and scowling evilly, Gilbert nodded.

"Good. I heard from your teacher you have a mock exam in physics today."

"Yeah, what of it?" actually, Gilbert had totally forgotten about the test.

"I want you to do your best." A significant look. Gilbert grumbled, self conscious, and looked everywhere but his brother's eyes.

"What does it matter…"

"You know how it matters!"

"But Rod-shit will cover for me! And that other kid… the Korean one."

"Gilbert! The more the better. Now get up. I want to see you standing up and getting ready to go before I leave."

"I'm not wearing pants."

"You haven't got anything I haven't seen before."

"I haven't got anything you haven't _sucked _bef-"

"Gilbert, finish that sentence and you will not be given any money for the rest of the month. Now get up and get ready."

Ludwig watched with narrowed eyes as Gilbert hitched himself reluctantly to his feet, sheet dropping carelessly, and mooched to the drawers stack by his redundant desk. There was no frame or sliders, Gilbert quite simply just had all his clothes in drawers piled one on top of the other, and after shuffling a few he found some jeans that didn't smell too bad and a vintage band shirt to throw on.

"Gilbert wear underwear…"

"Underwear is for faggots." He rummaged around in his desk junk for some mint gum or a toothbrush, and found a half packet of extra micro-crystal fresh mint. He popped four pellets from the tray and crammed them into his mouth.

"Alright, I'm ready." He grabbed a spray can of axe and gave himself a once over. His pants slipped down his hips. He hitched them up and yawned. "Let's go."

The dry expression of distaste on Ludwig's face said everything he didn't dare.

…

_Thank you all for reading! And remember, I have a tumblr that if you have any questions comments or just want to make friends you can find me there. ^^ _

_Laughingindanish is my name, theres a link on my Profile page. If I get enough followers, I will be more than happy to take drabble requests and post extras there. (yeap… im tumblr whoring. Charming, arent i? :D)_

_Of course, I do not own hetalia or any of the characters. _


	6. FIVE starts slow but picks up da

Alfred slept in late, reflecting on how the British school system may have its problems, but the academy system of 'teachers extended free periods' was a pretty sweet deal when one got right down to it.

When the clock ticked over ten am, however, he became unfortunately aware that he really needed to pee, and dragged himself out of bed with a sigh. He was due in class come one thirty, and then after school rostered to oversee study, but until then he still had about five more boxes of shit to organise before the _second_ lot arrived over the weekend, and he was feeling kind of peckish. It was a tough life, being Alfred Jones.

He gazed longingly at his Xbox as he passed it by on the way to the bathroom, but executed such dramatic and commendable self control when rather than pick up a controller and log on he had a shower, he felt he had earned a McDonalds breakfast.

He was most put out when after a brief visit to , he discovered the nearest shop was ten whole blocks away. What the fuck? That was insane! Back at home, it didn't matter where you went you were three blocks from a Maccas at all times. The idea of being in a city where this was not true arrowed a splint of homesickness through him. He winced.

Alfred hadn't been homesick for a long, long time. He wasn't really the type. Or maybe he was, he just very rarely acknowledged it.

It was a resigned, moody Alfred Jones who trudged with a coffee mug in hand through his spotless living room to the spare bedroom and the stack of five boxes he was yet to sort through.

SCHOOL STUFF one box read in bold black marker letters. CLOTHES, MAGAZINES/COMIX, CLOTHES, SHIT.

He sipped his coffee dryly and set it on the floor by the door. First box, he would tackle SHIT. He sat cross legged on the floor and drew it close to him. Upon peeling the tape off and peeking inside he discovered it contained old VHSs and a broken Playstation, among other superfluous things.

He sighed, feeling it was going to be a long, nostalgic morning, and got right down to business.

...

Gilbert clomped into Physics twenty minutes late, grunting a brief apology to the overseeing Professor (it wasn't the usual teacher, Gilbert noticed bitterly) and plucking a paper off the stack on the front table. Under the tight scrutiny of everyone in the class except Matt (who was sitting hunched over his paper, three fingers stuck rigidly from his fisted hand in a finger-counting action and muttering under his breath) he carried on down the aisles to the empty desk at the back. His shoes scraped flatly on the ground as he went, prickling the hair of more than one student in the room. Roderich, when he passed by, sidled away a little. He had already finished his paper, and was otherwise occupied now with a spreadsheet of data relating to the ball budget. This didn't escape the slinking figure that dropped without ceremony into the chair behind him, and pulled a chewed pen from the bottom of a tatty satchel.

"Hey, Roddy. Fucking lend me a calculator."

"Go away Gilbert. I'm using mine."

Gilbert scowled, and was shushed by the supervisor. It looked like he would be doing this calculator free then. Not that he gave a fuck. _Stupid prissy music bitch wouldn't lend him a shitty piece of plastic…_

He sat there for about ten minutes, staring at the back of Roderich's head. The dark reams of hair shining cleanly and exuding a faint lilac scent. The way his shirt, white and casually rolled at the sleeves, stretched across his bare back and bunched at the shoulders…

He rested his head in his hand as he worked, wrist slim and noble. Visible to Gilbert just over his shoulder.

It was with a start, (specifically Matthew sneezing) that Gil remembered he was supposed to be doing. And it was just, just as the class was ending that he finished, dropping his pen in contentment as Ivan came around to whisk away the last of the papers ready for marking over the weekend.

"How did you do?" Matt popped up by his shoulder, cheeks flushed in that way they did when he was stressed, looking particularly dowdy (or hip, depending on how one looks at it) in brown pants and a navy cardigan. Gilbert shrugged.

"Same as same as. What about you?"

"Oh well I'm not sure I got number twelve right…"

And he was off. Matt had some kind of insane obsession with re-living tests and exams _after_ he had sat them. Gilbert switched off as the two left the classroom in the sweep of excitable students and melted into the river of people flitting by the door.

"… and I'm pretty sure the thing about force was wrong too, I mean…" His friend nodded uncaringly, and pulled him out of the way of a burly looking rugby player. "And then number twenty totally threw me off. I don't know Gilbert, I'm sure I'm going to fail."

"Don't be silly Matt. You never fail." Upon reaching the canteen, dark garnet eyes fell immediately on _that_ table. The child prodigy table, reserved for the likes of Roderich and his ego. The girl he dated, Elizaveta something (who hated Gilbert, really _hated _him for no legitimate reason actually,) from the class below them, waited for him patiently, violin case by her feet, glossy girls magazine in hand, but Roderich himself was no where to be seen. Maybe, Gil thought dryly, he had stayed to give their teacher a blow and secure top marks again.

This sentiment made him grin bitterly, and he nudged Matthew softly to the counter to be served.

"Anyway, what class do you have next? I have shop…"

"Stats," Matt answered without thinking. "I have to draw graphs about some shit I hate."

"Ah yes…" a thoughtful nod. "Sounds like stats to me."

...

The envelope was thick, and the address penned on it was in a rigid, angular script Alfred had seen once, maybe twice in his life but recognised as soon as he saw it.

_Alfred Freedom Jones,_ (yah, that was his name. His mom was one of those patriot wiccan types who fancied names like _Freedom,_ and _Justice,_ and _Liberty._)

_On your eighteenth birthday._

Alfred frowned. It had long since been his eighteenth birthday, yet he was quite convinced he had never seen this envelope before in his life. It was sealed still, and when he flicked it around by his ear, the sound of paper and a soft murmur of what may have been jewellery whispered from beneath the folds and flaps.

Puzzled, he glanced at the box he had found it in, a lunchbox with the incredible hulk on it, crammed with papers that were mostly old bills and receipts and letters to the editor he remembered pulling out of his mother's writing desk after she died, so it was sellable.

"Oh…" he clicked, "She must have forgotten to give it to me."

Progress that morning had been slow. So slow, that he was only halfway through the first box. Distractions… it was crammed full of distractions in the form of N64 cartridges and childhood army men and things he hadn't even remembered he had. For one short half hour instance, he had been rather invested in a game of ball-in-a-cup he had discovered at the bottom of the token assortment of stuff. It was fairly typical Alfred, short attention span and such like, and a perfect indicator that well, this letter had attracted his attention, and everything else was now irrelevant. Besides, he had to be finishing up soon anyway. Class started in a little over an hour, and he still had to have something to eat.

Disinterested now in all the other box contents he piled them all up and stood, his knees creaking, his empty coffee mug knocked over and sent rolling across the floor. He didn't notice, to busy examining the envelope in his hands.

Loose carpet covered floorboards creaked as He padded out of the room and shut the door behind him, throwing himself carelessly onto his sofa and turning the envelope over in his hands. It was thick, no bigger than a usual envelope…

He bit his lip and after checking the clock to check he still had time (he did), with a slightly lifted heart rate he tore it open as he would with any other envelope or letter. It want like he was expecting anything monumental to happen, after all, and if he had have he would have been disappointed. No smoke poured out, the earth didn't stop spinning… nothing remarkable came of consequence, yet with the opening of the envelope Alfred realised that his hands were trembling. He scolded himself, and hesitated to gain some composure. He was a grown man! It was stupid… he was being stupid. Really now.

Inside was a pair of photographs, and an ID bracelet, sized for a child. The first thing Alfred noticed was the note written on the inside flap of the envelope.

_On your eighteenth birthday, I hope you will be mature enough to understand. Your brother and your Daddy, who will always love you._

He choked on his breath, and immediately cast the envelope away.

He picked up the ID bracelet first. He recognized it as being identical to the one he himself had received when he was younger, and still wore despite the angst it occasionally instilled in him. He remembered his father telling him he had had it made before he was born, with the name he had chosen himself.

Alfred.

**WILLIAM K, DUE JULY 1995. LOVE, DADDY.**

He realised with a jolt that this was the kids own matching article, and almost instantly wondered, swallowing a thick feeling of spite, why the brat himself hadn't received it. William huh? That was his name… this bracelet, if it was made before his birth, would have been produced while his father had still been married to Kia Jones.

Alfred's mother.

The photos were unremarkable. One showing a slim, bewitchingly gracious looking baby, the kind that advertisers want in commercials, dressed in perfect white christening gear and sleeping in its crib. The other was…

His dad.

Alfred had had enough. His gut seemed to of seized up, his coffee congealing in his tummy and turning to a glutinous glob of phlegm, it hurt and tears he refused point blank to shed. Pressing his lips together he glanced at the clock. An hour before he had to be at school…

Without thinking, he put the photos down on top of his planner (lying open on the coffee table to three days earlier) and stood up. In the soft flutter of air, his father's portrait slipped to the ground. For some reason, one he couldn't make sense of at all, he secured the ID bracelet around his wrist and feeling oddly compelled to _do _something and shake the feeling he was experiencing, He bustled to the kitchen.

That was disturbing and a little painful in an oddly muffled way, but he was a man, right? He could handle it.

...

"Hey."

"Hi." Gilbert didn't look up from his phone that afternoon when Matthew dropped beside him, much to involved in his game of angry birds to even complain when his friend reached past him for his satchel and pulled it open. The physics textbook inside was heavy, and still in its original plastic covering.

"God Gilbert, seriously?" Matthew struck across the plastic with his nail, slitting it open and peeling it carelessly off. "You haven't even opened your books?"

"Why should I? It's not like I need them."

Matt sighed, thinking briefly he really could have picked someone better to study with after school.

Gilbert, regretfully, was as good as it was getting, and so acquiescent he opened Gilbert's text book and dug around in his own bag, for his notes. At least the library wasn't too crowded today. What with the miserable weather outside (the Heavens had torn a little after midday, and rain was bucketing outside like it had no intention of stopping) they had all wanted to get home as soon as possible. He had to wait for the bus anyway, so it was fine, he couldn't have gone home earlier if he had wanted to.

The library at the school was nice.

An old building, older than the school itself and joined to it clumsily by a tacky glass passageway, it was conventionally dim, smelling of old books and carpeted thickly. it was wallpapered by shelves creaking under the weight of all manner of books, from the babysitters club all the way through to old tomes Matt suspected were worth a lot more than money. Ones with heavy covers and yellow pages… he would have liked to read one or two some time, but because they weren't actually 'high school books' (the school shared a common library with the university next door) he needed special permission to do so. Of course, he was much to shy to request this, and on the one occasion he had requested he had been totally ignored. His math teacher ahead just carried on talking about parabolic functions as if he was composed of negative squares. (At least, that was how Gilbert had phrased it. He failed to see what his friend found so funny about the comment but no way in hell was Gilbert willing to explain) and Matt had been left to sulk, cursing his perpetual insignificance.

He loved the musky, knowledgy taste in the air. Loved it wildly. He often wondered if perhaps he could spend forever in here, tucked in a golden corner at a rickety table with his best friend and paper cup of Starbucks coffee. But alas, beverage consumption within was strictly prohibited, and this ban was enforced by a tall, horse faced woman with lemon sucking lips and red hair pulled into a high braid. She skulked between shelves every so often, popping up when one least expected it, and being generally unwelcome. She disliked Matthew, which he had decided with grim resignation was marginally better than not knowing he existed, on account of an unfortunate incident involving a maple syrup sandwich and a first edition Steven Erikson.

The notes on radioactivity were located, crumpled at the bottom of his stuff and covered in an anonymous brown goo, and he threw it with distaste onto the table. Gilbert finished his game and looked up.

This was their first study session in a while.

At first, the two had met every week after school, Matt to assist Gilbert pass his English basic pre-test and Gilbert to provide company, but eventually the practice had had fizzled into ice cream instead, maybe a walk down to the river.

Gilbert suspected, but wasn't going to say anything, Matt's sudden suggestion that lunch that they study afterschool may have had something to do with the fact he had read on the library roster that Jones was on assistant duty. Matthew was quite adamant, in his own mind, that it was not.

Not at all.

Nope.

He was just really desperate to pass his next physics module. Yeap.

In any case, the half hour between three thirty and four pm passed pleasantly enough. A dribble of students, some of which had boycotted the glass passage in favour of the front entrance and were hence dripping buckets all over the place, ebbed in and out. The librarian seated at the main desk was ruffled and glaring, the rain fell a little harder…

And at three minutes to four, bearing his bag, umbrella, laptop, giant mug of coffee and a heavy textbook concerning the independence war, the one known as mister Jones sauntered in. Smirking behind his hand, Gilbert paused his on-phone porn (one gets bored of flinging birds at wood) and kicked Matt under the table.

"Ow!" disturbed, shin sore and a little pissed off, Matthew glared. He had been making great progress on half lives and now he had lost his train of thought. "What was that… for…"

His train of thought unravelled even more when Gilbert thumbed his attention to the man, who was juggling with his stuff and struggling to shake dripping clumps of hair from his glasses. Looking completely adorable while he did it.

"Your boyfriend is here."

"He's not my boyfriend!" the blush that lit creamy cheeks bright was sweet. Gilbert rolled his eyes and went back to his porn. "Whatever man. You don't need to pretend around me. It's okay, if you like dick."

"Oh yeah?" Matt's teeth gritted and he tore his gaze away from his teacher. It fell almost immediately on Roderich, sitting on a sofa in the far corner of the main space, reading from one of those university books Matt coveted. "Well there's _your _boyfriend." He pointed, and Gilbert glanced over his shoulder to see where.

The expression on his face was better than priceless.

"Hey, shut up! Asshole."

He whacked Matt's hand down and the sound echoed in the silence. Everyone, including the librarian, glared at them. Alfred was to busy trying to shove his wet umbrella in his bag to notice.

"Faggot."

"You're a faggot!"

Matt smiled and shook his head carelessly.

"Yeah yeah, okay, whatever." Smiling to himself, he went back to his work, stealing glances Alfred's way when the opportunity arose.

...

Alfred left his things on the table in the corner, next to the globe and under the eye of that one particularly haughty boy Edelstein, and took to pacing the stacks in the library, fingers tracing the spines of the books.

He did like this library.

Alfred wasn't really what you would call a reader. He was more of a comic book and movie sort of a guy, but he did certainly value the beauty and aura of an old, dim library. Alive with the rustle of pages, and the soft breath of occupants… it made him warm and fuzzy on some strange, archetypal level. He hadn't been in such a charming library since his Uni course back in NYC, and it was sort of nostalgic, the sink of dusty carpet beneath his feet and the soft laughter of students sharing notes and murmuring gossip behind racks of magazines.

Anxious, he glanced over his shoulder. The Edelstein boy was still there, working his way through an old edition of Alice's adventures in Wonderland, and Alfred nodded firmly to himself. Though he suspected that the child may just have a stick thrust up his ass, he trusted him entirely with his possessions. After all, not only was he in Alfred's history class, he had proven himself intelligent and well learned in his anthropology classes too. There was a reason he was on the list for honours and set to be head boy come new semester. Though no student was supposed to know that.

And it was with a soft content Alfred turned his back entirely and disappeared deep down the stacks.

The events of earlier that morning still lingered in the back of his mind, he wandered through a crooked labyrinth of books and wondered if maybe he could find advice or something contained within some one or other, relating to his predicament.

He really doubted it.

The soft soles of his chucks murmured his footsteps across the floor, he wove beyond the high-school zoned library and edged without noticing into the higher, much older and dustier shelves of the University Bookery. A glittery giggle startled him, it carried down the walks of novels and texts from some obscure source over his shoulder. For a second he thought someone was following him.

But when he turned around, nothing.

Unsure he wanted to venture further down the shelves alone on such a wet, miserable day (beyond the small thin of space where the high school students dwelled, the cavernous building seemed to stretch endlessly into the depths of time) he settled instead for taking a book at random and sauntering back toward the main space.

That laugh again.

He stopped, and turned his head around to the general direction it came from. Three shelves over maybe? Down to his left, then around… the sound lulled and he chewed his lip.

It reminded him of something… something precious…

"Okay, okay, stop it!"

He jumped. The arrangement of shelves really was messing up his sense if directional hearing.

"Stop what?"

"Distracting me!" the giggler's voice still had a faint shiver of amusement in it. "I have to study!"

"But I'm so boooored…"

Alfred's lip quirked. He recognised the voice now, as Matty's, the other of course as Gilbert's (the two were joined at the hip, he was convinced) and without hesitation he ducked out of his row of books toward to roll of voice beckoning him.

"Watch your porno."

"I'm bored of porno."

"Your bored of… ugh, Gilbert."

Alfred edged around, close to the main space of the building. From where he was, right on the end of a row, he could see the front door, the desk, and his possessions still cast on the table. Edging around and sticking his head around the corner…

Yup. There he was. Matty Bonnefoy and his friend, arguing in hushed tones over Gilbert's iPhone.

"Well I am! Entertain me!" he thrust his lower lip out and reluctantly Matt laughed.

"Okay, fine. If you're bored of porn, I have a perfect video for you."

"How perfect?"

"You have never seen smut like this before." Matt leaned back in his seat, and Alfred was a little disappointed the kid had his back to him. Hearing the teenager speak so candidly of porn made his cheeks flush and the small cowlick in his crown quiver in excited curiosity, he sunk against the shelf he lent around, and juggled the book in his arms so he could tuck his fringes out of his face. He wondered briefly if it was _normal_ for British teenagers to discuss porn, or of Matt and Gilbert had some kind of 'special' relationship that made it okay. He hadn't long ago been a teenager himself, but the years between then and now felt like eons. He was pretty sure if he had tried to talk sex with his mates at seventeen he would have been called 'gay'…

A soft realisation occurred to him, and he 'aww'ed' quietly under his breath. He should have guessed.

"Alright then." Interest piquited, Gilbert sighed. "What's it called."

"If I tell you, you have to promise to shut up and leave me alone to study?"

"Why don't you get Jones to help you st-"

"_If I tell you, you have to promise to shut up and leave me alone to study?"_ he stressed his words threateningly, tapping his pen impatiently at his 'friend'.

"Alright, alright, I promise. Geez."

Matt hummed.

"It's called two girls one cup. Now if you don't mind…"

"Ah hahah… nice try Matt. Seen it, fapped to it…"

"You _wanked_ to two girls one cup?"

"No. not really. But God it was worth saying just to see your face." Gilbert's laugh was gruff and low, like a dog growling. Alfred smiled, finger rubbing his lower lip in childish amusement. They were a cute couple.

He leapt almost a foot into the air, yowling like a cat, when a soft tug on his sleeve jolted him.

"Oh, sorry." The student who had called his attention was tall, and unfamiliar. "Are you the teacher dude on duty today?"

"I uh…" glancing over his shoulder, unsure if the two at the table had noticed him and relieved to see that they were to busy debating the artistic value of two girls one cup to have paid him any attention, Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"Oh, awesome. Can you help with my math papers?"

"Um… sure." He stood up straight and composed himself. His heart was hammering still from fright. "Just let me check out this book on…" he glanced at the book in his arms "Plastic bottle jewellery making?" he frowned, a little confused as to how, of all the old meaningful books he could have grabbed from the expanse of the university library he had gotten that _particular _one, and sighed.

"Whatever. I will be right with you."

The student nodded.

...

_Jada, a little early today, but here you go. ^w^ Im not sure im happy with this chapter, it feels weird and flimsy to me but that may just be because im über tired or a little bit pissed off. in any case, here you all go._

_oh, and um, while we are here, let me just indulge in some shameless review whoring... I though i wouldnt have to but i cant help to give a litle nudge can it xD? reviews make me happy, and make me feel like im not totally wasting my time writing fanfiction. im not sure if its because im bad and everyone is too nice to say something or what, but um, how come i have about fifty people with this story on notifications but only a couple of reviews da? :( im shooting blind here, its hard to improve ones writing when getting no constructive feedback, as i am sure many of you know. so if you get an extra second, please clikc that review button down there and tell me what you think. i would really appreciate it._

_thank you. i do not own hetalia or the characters in the story._


	7. SIX

"Good morning class!"

"Good morning mister Jones!" everyone in the room chorused, the young teacher laughed and rolled his eyes, sitting on the edge of his desk and removing his glasses, to wipe on the hem of his oversized bomber jacket.

"Wow… you lot are like a batch of fucking robots! I'm impressed."

A shy giggle passed through the class. Matt smiled, not lifting his eyes from his desk in case he was looking, and continued drawing silly little hearts on the back of his homework diary. Gilbert beside him grunted, and lifted his head from the desk.

"_Was_…?"

"Go back to sleep, Gil, class isn't over yet."

"Mm." he rolled his eyes around and glared at his companion. "I was not asleep. I was wallowing in angst. And what the…" Gilbert caught sight of the heart covered page. "What the fuck is that?"

Matt flushed, and covered it with his forearm.

"Nothing."

"'_Nothing_'." Gilbert did his best matt impression (which wasn't very good) and snatched the diary away with a triumphant ha. "Oh god Matt! These are _love-hearts~_"

"They are not! Give that back!"

"Holy shit… all that's missing is the initials. AJ4MB ex oh ex oh ex." Gilbert held the book out of reach, regarding the tattooed page with mirth. "Oh wow… Matt. By god…"

"Shut up! Give it here!" unable to think straight through the haze of his humiliation (they so were NOT love-hearts. He just felt like doodling randomly things that LOOKED like love-hearts. They weren't ACTUALLY love-hearts at all! What was Gilbert on?) Matt craned out of his chair over gilberts lap, elbow digging into the other boy's crotch, his hand securing on the side of Gilbert's waist. His other hand, fingers splayed, reached for the book held high above Gilbert's stupid white blonde head. Everyone in the class was beginning to notice them now, and the small touchy-feely crawl they were having all over each other.

Alfred Jones lifted his eyes from the page of his planner and frowned.

"Matty? Gilbert? What are you doing?"

"Training sir." Gilbert twisted in his seat and waved the book teasingly even further back. "If I want to get my moneys worth at the monkey wrestling I have to make sure my investment is well conditioned."

Matthew gave an indignant cry and jumped out of his seat, knocking the book out of the others clutches and sending it across the classroom floor with a soft squeak and flutter. It came to rest about a metre from Alfred's desk, and pushing his glasses further up his nose and frowning, he peered at it, curious.

"I see…" he couldn't quite make out the name on the cover of the diary from where he was, and so right in front of matts mortified face he beckoned to Ivan's sister in the first row.

"Nat, pick that up for me please?"

She almost tripped in her hurry. Or at least, she would of if she hadn't been doing ballet for a good ten years. A more appropriate description would have been 'she pirouetted' to the book and 'gifted it to the teacher she had been nursing a crush on for a good week', before 'administering an even, astonishingly pretty smile' and 'spinning back around in a curtain of shimmering blonde hair'.

"Thanks." Alfred checked the name. Matthew Bonnefoy. It had been written in the white NAME: strip with neat black pen, and doodled over in what looked like love-hearts.

He smiled and set the book carefully on the corner of his desk. "Now that we have removed the distraction, everyone can return to work yes? Matthew, you may get your homework diary after class."

"Thanks a lot, Gilbert." Matt hissed, kicking his friend under the table. "Asshole, embarrassing me like that."

Gilbert sniggered and fiddled with a lock of hair that played sideburns with the side of his face. "You should be thanking me, stupid, Because of me you have alone time with captain America, don't you?" He winked and settled back on his desk. "In any case, you are more than welcome."

…

"I'm so sorry sir. Really." Matthew clutched his book to his chest and watched his teacher pack up his desk calmly for the weekend. "It wasn't my fault, it was Gilbert, he-"

"Is a little hellraiser yeah I know. You know that last assignment I gave you guys this week?"

Matthew nodded. It had been a short, simple essay about the abolition of slavery. Matt had enjoyed it, not because he liked the subject or writing essays, but because he had taken great delight in utilizing his most exquisite classical handwriting to compose it, and the small smile of impressment on his teachers face when he handed it in was something he rather prized.

No-body said he was an _average _sort of teenager…

"Yah, well, did he show you yours before he handed it in?"

Gilbert had not. A brief inclination of the head, Alfred sighed and brushed his fingers through his hair.

"He wrote three fat pages of information, and it probably would have been really good… if he hadn't gone through afterward and replaced every noun with the word 'stuff'."

Matt couldn't help but snort. That sounded like Gilbert alright.

"Yah, he does that kind of thing a lot…"

"mm. It's not often one finds a student quite like him. I'm not sure it's a blessing or a curse." Mister Jones clipped his laptop case shut and hitched it onto his shoulder with a sigh. "It's different alright. Hey, Matty, would you mind doing a favour and helping me carry these books out to my car?" he nodded to the small stack of books on the corner of his desk. "It can be your punishment, yeah?"

"Yah, okay." A smile, matt tossed his pretty blonde hair back and Alfred experienced a pale wave of exotic fruit smell. "Your planner too?"

"Yeah please. Thanks." Alfred stood by the door waiting as his student fetched the books and hobbled over bearing them. He turned off the light and shut the door behind them when he left. It had gone three-thirty, and the school was essentially deserted. The soft click of Matt's maybe-tap-shoes echoed loudly in the sterile hall.

"So hey." Alfred caught up to the other and reached for a couple of books on the top of the stack. "Your Gilbert. You two are pretty close right?"

"Mmhmm. Is it that obvious?"

Alfred laughed. "Kinda."

Alfred wasn't a smart man, but the more he thought about it the more he realised that Matthew with Gilbert and Matthew with someone else (even himself) were two totally different people. That much had been obvious in the previous day's library scene, and it was the kind of catalyst effect that only the closest, most dearest sort of person could bring out in someone else. He knew this, and the notion that matt was so intimate with someone contented him pleasantly. Made him feel like he wasn't the only person in existence who saw value in the slip of blonde and lilac eyes that shantied elegantly in stride with him, graciously bearing books that were not his own.

Of course, this warmed Alfred to Gilbert considerably, and it was why he had given Gilbert a c- for his essay, on the basis of creativity.

But that was a secret.

"Yeah, well we are pretty close."

"How did you two meet?" Alfred pushed the main entry to the school open with his hip and held it wide for matt to follow through. "Not that I'm being nosy, but.. I'm being nosy."

Ruddy roses of pale pink brushed the apples of Matt's cheek at the sudden interest on his teacher's part. He wondered briefly if as a teacher mister Jones was even aloud to ask such a question, but after looking at the genuine, simplistically kind smile on the face he had grown so attached to, he dismissed it and answered.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Matt giggled and stopped walking, switching the weight of the books a little and blowing his single bobbing curl out of his face. A light breeze stirred piles of dead leaves littering the deserted carpark, Alfred's shiny blue second hander gleamed gaudily in the low afternoon light filtering through grey-ish clouds. A small trickle of students were descending the steps of the university building just over, and not even bothering to send brief glances their way.

"Well… we were at a school gala at our middle school right?"

Alfred nodded and leant his weight on the brick banister edging the school steps so he could watch the story-teller without having to worry about falling backward. As if that was a genuine concern.

"And my mum and I we were walking around as people do. And then we see him standing by the old gate with his violin and a hat, busking. My mum likes the violin, so we went over-"

"Wait, Gilbert plays the violin?"

Matt nodded without elaborating and carried on. "Anyway, my mum likes violin so over we went. And when he saw her, he just kind of… stopped playing and stared at us for ages. At the time, I didn't know he was a student, because he looked waaaay older than he was then let me assure you. I thought he might have been seventeen? Though he was really only about thirteen."

Alfred nodded, and Matt chewed his lip, unsure how to say the next part. Under the careful scrutiny of Alfred's eyes, he wondered if he could actually ever be able to speak like a normal person again. He was pretty sure that soon he would be babbling nonsense, and should probably hurry u and say what he needed to while he was still coherent.

"Anyway, long story short, he started hitting on my Mum. Thought she was my sister or something. Dumb right? I mean I know my Mum's pretty but seriously? Of course I got shitty, and he started laughing at me, and then some how for some reason from then on…" he shrugged, resuming walking and clutching the books tight to his chest. "We were just friends. My Mum thought it was great, and she still loves it when they see each other because he flatters her and flirts like crazy… I dunno, if I were my Dad I would have put a stop to it ages ago." A merry laugh. "But thank god, I am not my Dad."

"Yeah, I'm glad I'm not my dad too." Alfred smirked a little, and pulled his car keys out of his pocket with a free hand as they drew closer to his parked vehicle. "He's an asshole."

"Really? I kind of pictured your dad as being bright and jolly."

"You've been picturing my dad?"

Matthew tripped and imagination-self kicked his dumb ass several times, for making such a stupid, foot in the mouth comment.

"Wha-no! No I didn't mean… no."

The easy laugh he was given in response assured him that the comment was not to be taken seriously, and the two relaxed into a pleasant silence. It was taught with just enough awkwardness to crackle adrenaline through matt's hormonal teenage body as the boot was popped, and matt unloaded the books into the back of the small car. Alfred watched him closely as he lowered them, the small ten seconds it took to complete the task granting a brief window in which to glance slimly muscled arms, projecting from rolled cardigan sleeves, flexing and tightening beneath soft looking white skin. His wrists were so tiny, he noticed, and his hands so feminine and beautiful he almost anted to give them a brief, experimental squeeze…

"So hey," Alfred ruffled his hair, (he had a habit of playing with his hair, Matt noted. Either smoothing it, tucking it, ruffling it… but nothing he did could smooth that one perky lick that just defied all laws of physics at his parting,) and waited for those hands to shift before slamming the trunk closed. "thanks for the help, I appreciate that."

"It's fine sir, thanks for the education."

"Better it going to you than some idiot who would just waste it." Matt was gifted a small wink, and his face immediately exploded into a fan of colour he had to bow his head to hide.

"Mm. Yah." He pretended to check the sole of his shoe for gum. Alfred tilted his head to the side and reclined on the side of his car, thinking.

"Hey, mat…"

"Yeah?" shyly, matt peaked up from behind a curtain of hair, his glasses glinting in the sun. He lowered his foot and rubbed his left bicep nervously.

"nothing meant by this question, and you don't need to answer if you feel its going over the line, but you and Gilbert… are you two… you know?"

"I know what?"

"Together. Like, _together,_ together."

Matt choked, though there was nothing in his mouth to choke on, and was reduced to a coughing wreck. Alfred, fearful that yeap, he had totally overstepped the line and broken his best student by doing so, leapt off the side of his car and began clapping Matt's back to ease whatever it was obstructing healthy breathing patterns on the part of the younger.

Matt spluttered, as though he was rather desperate to convey a very passionate response to that question, and clawed at his throat. The hand on his back was broad, and sent his heart bounding to his chest which left him choking more.

After about two minutes of panic and gasping and eyes watering from distress, Matt finally managed to clutch the fluffy collar of Alfred's large tan bomber jacket and wheeze "No! Absolutely not!"

Alfred, for reasons he couldn't explain and thought hardly on, found himself strangely glad to hear it, and began laughing despite his wards dire state. A sour glare pinned through narrowed lilac eyes at first, but soon Matt broke too, dissolving into light giggles.

He didn't remove his hand from Alfred's wool lapel once they had stopped. Instead, he found himself smoothing it absent mindedly, gazing at the elder with adoring eyes.

"Alright then sir, I suppose I will see you Monday."

"Yes, I suppose."

Their eyes locked, a first extended period of colour to colour contact, and it was another thirty seconds before one of them, Matthew, made the first move to leave.

"I will see you then." He smiled, releasing the coat slowly and stepping away. "Have a good weekend."

"… Yeah, you too."

Alfred watched Matthew walk swiftly away, unable to see the huge grin on glorious features or hear the frantic hammering of a youthful, unbroken heart. Matt could though; he could feel the blood surging in all his extremities, feel dopamine flooding his brain like he was on some kind of wondrous narcotic. His shoulder blades tingled, the space between his legs was warm, heavy and sensitive, brutally honest parts of his body were responding to the brief and intimate connection he had felt when he saw himself reflected in Alfred's cornflower blue eyes.

…

Matt rolled over in bed, delighting in the feel of clean cool sheets after a glorious nights sleep. He uncurled and stretched feline and contented, hair fanning in a golden wave across his pillow and tickling the nape of his bare neck. His skin smelled faintly of the heavy oil that seemed to always ease over the cheeks and chest of those having slept deeply, and lying on his stomach he buried his face in his pillow, the perfume of the laundry soap clean cover pleasant and floral.

In Matthew's small flat, all was still.

The curtains were closed, allowing minimal morning sunshine through, and the sound of the kitchen clock ticking was sedate and regular. The sofa bed on which he slept had this time a laptop tucked in the corner, from where he had the night before been watching a movie, and small sweet wrappers (toffee and liquorice allsorts) were scattered everywhere carelessly. He licked his teeth and thought that maybe he should have brushed them before bed last night after all, but let the thought dissolve when a faint breeze from the partially cracked open window above him billowed the curtains and rustled his hair pleasantly. It was a delicious sensation, like having fingers carding through his locks, and he really rather liked it. A lot.

With a soft sigh he opened his eyes, wondering absently what he should do today. His mother would probably be going into the city to shop later, and maybe he could tag with. He thought with a pang of regret that he wouldn't see mister Jones today, but then remembered the evening before, and the handsome bubbling features he had been close enough to touch, and decided that it was fine. He had had his fair share of Jones already.

For now, at least.

Smiling to himself, he reached for his glasses on his side table, humming a soft little tune. Fingers skated over a coaster, a pen, and an empty packet of liquorice allsorts without finding his prize, and perplexed he turned his head, squinting at the blurry shapes over the arm of his sofa bed.

It was the slender blue object beside his lamp that caught his attention. He had grabbed it from the bathroom the night before, with intention to use it before he slept, but had actually totally forgotten and passed out part way through I-Robot. A little astonished as to how he could have forgotten such a thing, Matt picked up his vibrator and rolled it thoughtfully in his hands. He nibbled his lip, and a small tremble of excitement purred across his skin at the thought of what he _could_ do right now. If the inclination took him. He touched the tip of his toy, running his fingers over the smooth shape. It had been an expensive purchase, he knew, so rather than taking the form of a cut phallus it was much sleeker and classier, slightly curved, with a palette at the end of it to stimulate the prostate. He was fond of it, yes, but sometimes he wondered if perhaps it was too easy to use, too specialized and convenient… he wondered what it would feel like to have a cheaper one, or even better, a real hot dick pulsing inside of him. Probably painful, a little ragged and un-ergonomic… although Matt was pretty sure he was straight, he had always wanted to be fucked by a man. Something about being impaled, about being the served not the servant. Maybe it was his haughty snooty streak again (his mother had instilled a small but resilient 'superiorist' facet in him from a young age) but he certainly fancied the idea of lying there and being ravished by someone broad and handsome and excruciatingly good in bed. Someone with a great smile, and who he could trust to make his toes curl in bliss. Someone confident and a little cocky, always asking him to pet their ego as they dragged him into ecstasy. The fantasy of sucking cock and being a little whore for a loud, vibrant man who fucked like an animal excited Matt more than he would ever admit. A guy like Gilbert or mister Jones, one of those special breeds with a laugh that turned heads and a mouth like a sewer.

Matt cut his thoughts shortly in shock, grip tightening on his vibe, lips pulling open in a startled 'oh!'

Gilbert or mister Jones? Oh no he so totally did NOT just think that!

All inclination to get himself off gone, Matt jumped out of bed and scuttled to the shower in a state of flusterment. Mister Jones? Sure, he was gorgeous and young, delightful to be around and Matt was pretty sure he might possibly maybe fancy him a LITTLE, but he was a TEACHER. That was a great big NO for anything with the remotest semblance of sex. And Gilbert! What the actual fuck. Where in hell had THAT come from? Sure, ages and ages ago he might have had the teeniest of tiniest crushes on his friend but that was long gone. Such thoughts were most likely just a side effect of warming up to the thought of being with a man again, and would be of little consequence.

Right?

…

Gilbert tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently, waiting for the washed out young woman with a baby and two screaming toddlers to locate the five pence she needed to make the total of her groceries and move along so he could go back to dozing at his post.

Gilbert hated, _hated_ his job. He hated it so much. So much that it was a secret. So much that he would pretty much die if anyone found out about it. Even matt.

Luckily, the west side stop and save, located in scenic 'most seedy part of any city ever' was the last place anyone he could ever wish to know would shop. The peeling red letters on the front of the building gave an impression of desolation, grim aisles of faded label cans were enough to make anyone, even Rosie O'Donnel, want to commit suicide. Every trolley squeaked, every employee (except Gilbert) was either stoned or a former inmate. The only folk who shopped here were single mothers of unwell children and shoplifters angling for practice before they shifted their operation to the big leagues, and began discounting at the Tescos a few suburbs over.

The worst thing about the damn job, he thought as he watched one of the toddlers, (dressed in a tiny, food stained pink blouse reading 'princess',) tug on her mothers shorts and plead a chocolate bar from the rack, was not the shitty paycheck or the lack of ambience, it was the customers. The genuine, honest customers (not the shoplifting cunts) who paid for their food in cash with kids on their hips, as if doing so would salvage a little of the pride they wore damaged on their sleeves. A plea for dignity in hollow hopeless eyes, woman who looked like they were going to cry, old men who had served in wars and could no longer walk but were long ago forsaken by a government who favoured the young and able and rich.

Gilbert did not pity these people, he wasn't a piteous sort of man, but he certainly found that interacting with them made him a little sad, a little agitated, and often left him guilty and sleepless when he lay awake in his large, luxurious bedroom every night.

Sighing, he reached for the candy bar the young girl was coveting, plus one other for what was either her sister or friend, and gave the customer a weary smile.

"It's okay, its only five pence. Have a great day ma'am."

He handed the two young girls the sweets and pressed the small wad of cash the lady passed him to cover milk and two loaves of bread into the money drawer.

The woman blinked at him.

"Sir, I can't pay for…"

"The chocolate is free. Have a nice day."

She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, as if the whole interaction was a great farce and as soon as she tried to leave the store she would be arrested for taking free things from a stranger, but after staring warily for a moment and finding nothing ill intended in bored, unusually dark eyes, she nodded.

"Oh, thank you. You too."

He watched her go, carrying her purchases and scooting her children in a hurried, anxious sort of way. She still held her shoulders taughtly, and once she was out the door, once again on the grey windy street, she spared him a backward glance over her shoulder. He smiled.

"Gilbert?"

"Yah?" he spun around in his seat to face his boss, a short excessively large fellow most stop and shop employees referred to a 'Fat Peter', and made a brief adjustment to his uniform. "What do you want?"

"Can you work over time tonight? Until about six?"

Gil pulled a face. Frankly, he found working six hours (from ten to four) a week at the place six hours too much.

"Can I not?"

"Time and a half…"

This proposition merited at least SOME consideration. The reason Gilbert worked, after all, was because his brother matched any money he made a week himself, as 'motivation to succeed', and extra hours meant extra money, and extra money implied extra 'motivation', which in total equated to generally more cash in his hot little hand.

"Hmm… maybe I dunno. Why do you need-"

His boss cut him off.

"Serve these customers first. I will come back in about ten minutes."

"Oh… uh, okay." Gilbert glanced down the conveyer belt carelessly and pressed the button to bring the groceries they were loading on up to his scanner. "Hi." He said mechanically as he began scanning things like tissues and ice cream and slim fit tampons.

"Hi." A female voice chirruped back, before addressing her partner carelessly. "Love, which kind shall I grab?" she propped up on her tip toes, and Gilbert could see her craning to look at the condoms by the cigarette cabinet. "Flavoured, ribbed… what?"

"Regular." A soft masculine voice answered. "Did you get the… oh." He stopped talking and Gilbert raised his eyes to see why. "Hello Gilbert."

And Gilbert, a fellow who took extreme delight in the awkwardness of others, had no idea how to react when he looked at the couple he was serving properly, for the first time.

The initial thing he noticed was that actually, they looked nothing like the sort of people who should be shopping at stop and shop AT ALL. She was wearing a pretty winter dress and scarf, most likely from a slightly more expensive teen boutique, and he was dressed immaculately in trousers and an Abercrombie polo. They both had a clean, expensive look to them, and next to Gilbert in his heinous green uniform and cap, they looked positively first class. The second thing he noticed was the familiar faces, a little slow to associate with mufti clothing, but it was the man's chocolate coloured hair and almond shaped violet eyes that betrayed his identity. His thin firm lips were slack in a small surprised 'o', the beauty mark beneath dark and yah, very beautiful. He blinked a little, adjusting his glasses, and cleared his throat.

"I didn't realise you had a job." He murmured lamely, withdrawing his wallet to pay for the few things they had purchased. His girlfriend, a little put out upon recognising the man who had broken her lovers arm was the one she had just a few minutes ago greeted cheerily, dropped a box of regular Trojans on the conveyer, which Gilbert scanned with a thick tary bile churning in his gut.

"Job dear? This is his _career._" She tossed her head of long hazel hair and clung to Roerich's arm haughtily. "He will still be here twenty years from now, right Gilbert?"

"Ah hahaha." Gilbert pulled a face and punched the total button a little harder than probably necessary. "If I'm not doing time for exterminating a shitload of sluts like you, sure. That's twenty six pounds ten pence thanks."

If the bitch wanted to play dirty then Gilbert was happy to oblige.

Roderich pulled out a credit card and Gilbert snatched it to click it through the dusty card slot.

"You have to hold down the yellow button when you key in your pin." He reeled, shoving the card back. "Do you want some cash out? Or will you just shit some up later when you need it?"

The slender brunette sucked his teeth, resisting the urge to punch Gilbert in his gutter snipe face.

"Two hundred please."

"thousand or hundred thousand?" the request for two hundred pounds was keyed in, and the cash drawer flew open so Gilbert could take the money out. "Here. Don't forget to tip."

Not sure if he was being serious or not, Roderich took the cash and peeled a five pound note from the roll before tucking it into his wallet beside his card. Typical… his chest was utterly full of embarrassed butterflies now. He should have known that of all the supermarkets in the city Gilbert would work at this exact one. The exact one he had chosen because it was least likely anyone he knew would see him buying condoms there. Because Gilbert just had a way of doing that. Popping up un-welcomely and fucking up your shit.

"Right. Thank you."

"Yeah whatever." Gilbert scowled, still tasting vitriol on his tongue, as he watched the two piles their groceries (and their condoms. What the fuck? Was Roderich actually having sex with that cow or something?) Into eco bags and make ready to leave.

Floundering, hesitating for a bit, Roderich hitched his bag up and fingered the five pound note in his hand. Did lower class supermarket employees actually require tips or was Gilbert just joking? He really couldn't tell. The other cocked his eyebrow.

_What the fuck is he doing? Standing there and looking all constipated…_

"Come on Roddy." Liz called him, and throwing caution to the wind he cast the five pounds down on the counter dismissively.

"Bye." He spun on his heal and busted out the door behind his girl.

Gilbert's brows flew up; face registering surprise then rage, lips twisting into a sneer. The crumpled money, lying without a single care on the conveyer, was a direct insult to him and everything he stood for.

And the grim realisation that this superior, bitch fucking asshole was the shit he was expected to work with every week for a month, starting next Saturday night made him quite sure that actually, he did NOT want to work over time that afternoon. He would rather crash at Mathew's place, and have a long, intensive bitch.

…

_END of chap six, jada…_

_congratulations __if you made it so far! Its weird, when I first wrote this fic it was supposed to be a smutty one shot. And now it is this. Weird right? O.o _

_I do not own hetalia. Please review! :3_


	8. SEVEN with a touch of PruCan

"Would you like jam or syrup?" Matt called over his shoulder, having to raise his voice to be heard over the show Gilbert was watching on his television.

"I dunno." Gilbert called back, switching the channel in an attempt to find something worth seeing. "Just don't spit on it."

Matt resisted the urge to do just that, and flipped the pancake onto plate he held, switching off the oven element and nudging the kitchen light off with his hip as he left.

"Here." He dropped the plate into Gilbert's lap and settled in the sofa seat beside him. "You can eat them dry."

Pulling a face, Gilbert tugged a chunk of pancake off with his fingers and crammed it into his mouth. It was nice, light and sweet and deliciously warm.

"Thanks."

"Welcome." Matt grinned, and hitched his legs up under him on the sofa. "Whatcha watching?"

"I… don't know." Gilbert squinted at the black and white image on the screen. "It looks… Mexican?"

Matt pulled a face at the woman on screen dancing, fluttering feathered fans and shimmering on beads. It might have been a game show…

"Well, I would have said Brazilian, but anyway, change to three, there's a good movie on."

"Aww… what? But I'm liking this!" Gilbert sulked, handing over the remote with surprisingly little complaint. "Free boobies."

"Pfft." Matt flicked the channel to sky movies, Casablanca was playing, and to see it, Gilbert groaned.

"More classic shit Matt?"

"Shut up and eat your pancakes."

The two settled on the sofa, Matthew getting comfortable lying with his legs in Gilbert's lap, and feeling companionable they watched the film.

This was not a particularly normal Saturday for the two, but it wasn't uncommon. On more than one occasion, Gilbert had stayed with Matt after arguing with his brother, and sometimes after a drunken evening on the town he had shown up on the doorstep rather than go all the way back out to the suburbs and home. There was always a 'no homo' space in Matt's bed for his friend, and the young blonde beauty was happy to cook Gilbert his favourite food whenever he asked. So there were no complaints or great shock when Matthew came home from dinner with his mother and discovered Gilbert had keyed in the entrance code and made himself comfortable on his couch. Actually, he enjoyed having Gilbert around, and Gilbert liked crashing at his because he always got food and the house smelled great. As far as either was concerned, it was win win. And also, though Gilbert would never admit it, when Matt was with him was the only time he ever felt he could really _talk_. Which is what he really needed to do today.

He put it off though, until the end of the movie, and Matt had already reached for the remote to switch another one.

"Do you want to watch next top model or Alice in Wonderland?"

"Either is fine." Gilbert mused a little, staring at the other boy lying carelessly across him. Neither had turned on the light, but he could make out the details of his face in the light from the television. He was cute. If he was a girl, Gilbert would happily have done him.

"But Matty, I kind of came here for a reason."

"Mmm?" not glancing Gil's way, the subject licked his lips, and settled on the movie adaption of Prince Caspian.

"I wanted to tell you something."

"You aren't gay are you?" carelessly, Matt rolled onto his back and wiggled his feet in Gilbert's lap. "'Cause if you are telling me that, I know already."

"No!" Gilbert slapped his ankles, hot cheeked and oddly shaken by the joke. "Don't be dumb!"

Matt laughed, and brushed hair off his face. "Okay then, shock me."

"Okay. Well, I um…" Gilbert bit his lip. "I have a job."

"…" Matt didn't know what to say. Had Gilbert just told him… what? Actually what? "You…"

"I have a job. I work at the stop and shop on the other side of town and I make just over minimum wage per hour."

He shuffled around in his seat, and absent mindedly fiddled with the pom-pom on the toe of Matthew's sock. It was fuzzy and yellow, and clearly the socks were best home-onlys because they were spotless and cosy and thick.

He was a little bit offended when, after having a second to let the news sink in, Matthew Bonnefoy started to laugh his ass off. Or close enough, anyway.

"Are you serious?" incredulous, he poked Gilbert's thigh with his pointed toe. "Please tell me you are not serious. Oh my God that's hilarious! You! Having a job!"

"Oh stick it in your asshole." Pouting, embarrassed, Gilbert folded his arms and stared pointedly at the shadowy shape of a framed art deco movie poster hanging on the smooth beige wall. "Why are you such a prat?"

"Oh God that's classic…" Matt tipped his head back over the edge of the sofa, and dissolved into another wave of giggles when his glasses slipped off and tapped on the carpet below. "Holy crap… unbelievable…"

"I'm serious asspants. I'm a part of the working class. Stop laughing!"

"Whatcha gunna do if I don't?"

"I'm going to rip the stupid pussy pom-poms off your socks!" to show he was serious, he pinched them between his fingers and tugged. Matthew shrieked and sat up, knocking his hands away.

"Okay! Okay I will stop! Don't ruin my socks I got them in Toronto."

Gilbert grumbled, feeling very high and mighty, and released his socks.

"Alright then. We have made an agreement." His fingers flitted over Matt's bared ankles, he thought for a second, tucked his finger into the right sock and peeled it all very neatly straight off. A soft yelp, and an evil cackle, the sock was cast on the far corner of the flat, and Matt flew at his mate, slamming him against the back of sofa and grabbing for something, anything, he could pull off and throw to the side. In the struggle, his other sock was removed, and Gilbert lost the beanie he was wearing.

"Shouldn't wear hats inside anyway." Matt pouted, narrowing his eyes. "It's dead rude you know."

"Yeah well. What do you expect from a lousy common cashier boy?" sharp prodding fingers zapped Matt's waist and he yelped anew, almost toppling backward off the sofa. If it hadn't been for Gilbert catching him, he would have fallen backward and concussed himself on the chest-slash-coffee table again, and frankly he was too tired to bother with the hospital today.

"You ass." He settled back on the sofa at gilberts side and tidied his hair a little. It was getting way long, but he didn't have the money for a haircut, he needed it for cigarettes. Which he was low on too. An interesting thought occurred to him.

"Hey Gil?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you get employee discount?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Wouldn't know. Like I would ever want to buy shit at the stop and shop."

"Dang, I was going to ask you to buy me cheep smokes."

He ducked, laughing hysterically again, when Gilbert brought a hand around to clap his flushed face.

"Like hell I'd buy you shit, faggot." The awry hand made formed a vulgar gesture and found its way right up in matts face, jerking around and avoiding the teeth nipping at his fingertips. "Maybe a Birthday or Christmas present."

"Since when have you gotten me a _Christmas_ present?"

Gilbert thought for a moment.

"I… got you that ice cream the other week?"

Matt's eyes rolled like marbles, but he said nothing.

"Oh shut up. You never get me anything either and- HEY! Cut that out!"

In the lapse of concentration when he had been talking, Matt had managed to secure his sharp little teeth around the tip of his middle finger, and was refusing to let go.

"That fucking hurts fuck! Let go!" no amount of shaking would dislodge them, and at his yelling, the dog downstairs began having its own little hernia of sorts, yelping and wailing on top of the complaints and laughter from the boys.

"Promith me you wil buy me a pwethent for my birfday."

"Okay! Okay I'll buy you- let go goddamnit!"

Matt, feeling very satisfied with himself, grabbed Gilbert's wrist and released his teeth, allowing the finger to pop out again. It was slobbery and had a ring of red tooth marks crowning it. No blood, but the way Gilbert was staring at it, it may as well have been pissing fountains.

"There. Better?"

"You know it is! Cunt!"

"Oh pfft." Gilbert's tendency toward drama, though vehemently denied, never failed to amuse Matthew like mad. "It's just a finger, diddums."

"It's _my_ finger." He wiggled it threateningly, and matt gave a brief laugh, pressing his lips to the 'injury' briefly and running his nose along the length. Gilbert had wonderful hands, his fingers were long and the pads on his right hand a little fat and flat, from fingering the neck of his left handed violin. His palms were soft, and they tasted faintly of pancake still. They smelt good, like the cream and honey hand soap Matt had in his bathroom.

"Your hands are lovely…" he smiled into Gilbert's wrist, savouring the feel of it, letting his eyes slip shut for a brief heart leaping moment and wondering what they would feel like against any other part of his body. His waist for example, or his hips. The soft pulse of heartbeat where his mouth was caught for the briefest second, and Gilbert inhaled sharply, totally not sure how to take this turn of events _at__all_ and feeling fucking uncomfortable if he was going to be frank about it.

"Um… Matt?"

"Mm?" in the 'zone' Matthew skated his mouth over a twitching plane of palm and toyed with the idea of licking, before deciding just to go with sucking the bitten finger some more. It was a really nice feeling. It was warm, fun, and tainted with a faint flavour of forbidden that prickled the hair on the back of his neck and made him feel squirmy in his seat. Gilbert's cute face was classic, and he almost broke his concentration seeing it, instead smiling some more over the tip of what he was sucking and dipping his head forward a little more. A long section of bangs fell forward, half obscuring his face. The receiver was still totally numb with shock. But he noted distantly that Matt had a really warm mouth.

After a moment of stillness, in which the only sound to be heard was the low volume of the TV and the almost inaudible suckling noises from Matt, the two parted again, Matthew tucking his hair back and shaking it out, licking his lips to break the thin web of saliva that still connected him to Gilbert's pointer.

"Hmm." He smiled, and tipped his head to the side. His lips had darkened considerably, and the height of his cheekbones were dusted with rosiness. "Yeah…"

"Matt?" Gilbert didn't move his hand, he stared instead, slowly regaining the ability to think.

"What?" Matthew was moving closer, eyes (they are so like Roderich's, Gilbert thought out of no-where. The same colour. A little bluer maybe, a little more sullied by thick azul) locked on the pale, handsome face of his fascination. Stealthily, he dropped the hand, his old shirt rustling as he moved forward and eased Gilbert's face toward his own.

"I uh…" things were looking worrisome. Matt was all over him, getting closer, the scent of his hair was strong, and the allure of lilac, bedroom eyes

_How had I never noticed they were so beautiful?_

Was powerful.

"I…"

"You what?" the whisper fluttered over his lips, thumbs stroked the sides of his face and his heart leapt, his thighs clenched and suddenly, he seized Matt's waist before those creased pink lips managed to kiss his own.

"I like Roderich!"

This was precisely the start Matthew needed to realise _what__the__fuck_ he was trying to do, and freeze, face a mirror of shock, no longer a reflection of desire.

"… You what?"

"I like you but not in that way please don't kiss me I like Roderich and that would be way too weird is this weird I think this is weird I am REALLY WEIRDED OUT RIGHT NOW!"

Gilbert finished his little speech and was met with stunned silence. They stared at each other for a second in pure shock, nether believing that they were here, like this, now, scanning faces for shame, embarrassment, awkwardness…

They found none.

Three endless minutes passed of mortification and bewilderment, in which both managed to calm their hammering hearts, and tried to process what had just been said. It wasn't something either of them didn't _know_, it was just something that neither of them had really ever bothered to acknowledge before. Especially Gilbert. But there was just something in the thought of loosing his first kiss to his friend that had jabbed Gilbert in a raw, awkward sort of way. It demanded sudden epiphanies and conscious acceptance of facts that dreams and emotion had long since embraced, or bust, and Gilbert was never a fan of busting. Ever. Besides, kissing Matt? That would be TOO weird. He was _Matt_. Sweet faced, foul mouthed hipster trash Matt. The obsessive perfectionist, dry humorist, secretly superiorist little slip who had the hot mother and mega-smarts.

Also, Gilbert had never realised that Matt was _ACTUALLY_ gay. He wasn't, was he? Right? Gilbert couldn't tell anymore! What the fuck?

Matthew, on the other hand, was totally occupied wading through the relatively simplistic ocean of 'What am I attempting here?' to even give thought to Gilbert's confession.

Because what was he doing? He didn't in all honesty know! he hadn't really _thought_ about it, he just did it because it felt nice and Gilbert looked quite handsome in his old military shirt and beanie (on the ground) and well, he had never been kissed before and always wondered how it worked.

They were both standing on a cusp. They were standing atop a thin wall, the wall between friends and more-than friends that had many a time blurred in and out of focus between them without acknowledgement. Whichever way the fell now, deep into the potentially angsty deliciously forbidden abyss of more-than friends or back to the sunny, comfortable land of green grass and best buddies, was about to define what could have, if they thought about it, laid the foundation for the rest of their young lives.

And it was Gilbert's stomach, the fatemaker, grumbling lowly and loudly without warning, and snapping both from their trance. They blinked at each other, Matt glanced down at the general region of the noise…

And they both dissolved into laughter, collapsing against each other tiredly, and rolling in the merry, warm grass of friendship.

...

Alfred rolled out of bed Sunday morning feeling pretty good, and wacked off in the shower twice before deciding to go down the street to Starbucks to do his marking that morning. He didn't really feel like staying in his flat, as nice as it was (he had done a great job with it) he was somewhat sick of it, and the boxes that had arrived the day before were all up in his space and invading all over.

So he dug around in his recently re-acquired box of clothes, locating the favourite, softly worn pale blue wash pair of bootlegs he hadn't worn in a good six months, and tugged them on. A sweater and a hat, the blue one with hat flaps and tassels, finished the set. His laptop went in his bag. A quick key and cellphone check, he spared a look at himself in the mirror and grinned.

"Hey, sexy…" a cheeky wink, and totally oblivious to how true that may have been he clattered downstairs, skipping past his neighbour on his way out the door.

It was beginning to rain, but that couldn't dampen his spirits. Every step bounced, the freedom he felt in being far away, in a new country and with new people, bubbled to his surface and overflowed so that every person that drove by turned their heads in envy. He was teaching again. He was alive again… he was _free._

Sort of.

As the early morning rain began pattering harder on the grey cement below, and the flickering green light at the far end of the street of old, terraced buildings blurred in and out of focus against the grey, Alfred's pace slowed. His doc martins slapped wetly as he swaggered across the road, ducking under the balcony of the old, art deco building that simply didn't fit in, amongst the other classically brick nineteen fifties style apartments. They seem between the two parts of the city was frayed and the interlocking architecture varied from street to street. One had more brick, and the next had more plaster and cream paint. One had more lead seemed glass, winking glimpses of fireplaces crackling warmly, and the other graciously curved windows stained many colours. Red and yellow and blue…

A few aves over, the river flowed, and the local supermarket was more than likely opening up its doors in preparation for a longsome day of lazy Sunday shoppers. He smiled, thinking he might stop by this evening and buy a hot chicken for dinner.

Yes, things were looking good for Alfred Jones. Things were looking very good indeed…

The Starbucks was almost empty. Only the cashier girl, a pretty thing with curls and a wad of cheerful pink chewing gum, looked up when he entered. Two other occupants by the fireplace in a dim and cosy corner were too engaged into their not-entirely-English discussion

('_Du__må__ikke__…' __'Jaja!__Jeg__ved__det__godt__men__…' '__Nej!__Hold__din__kæft__'_)

To pay attention. The old man sipping tea by the window flicked the page of his newspaper lazily.

"Heya." Alfred grinned and sauntered forward, letting his laptop bag slip down his shoulder. "How you doing?"

The girl, her nametag reading Melanie, gave him a very intense once over, lips slack in astonishment. It wasn't uncommon, to get what most would call 'the young and hip' stopping by the coffee shop all days all week, but it was exceptionally rare (and really, _exceptionally_) for the so called 'hip' to be in the least but attractive. Old person clothes and buddy holly glasses could only do so much to disguise misshapen noses and eyes much to protruding to be enigmatically attractive, or even ironically attractive. This man, however, was in her eyes perfect in every way. Right down to the little freckles on the tip of a handsome , country boy nose.

"I'm…fine."

"Oh, awesome!" smiling, Alfred glanced away, scanning the menu for something he might like. His accent, he noticed it for the first time and chewed his lip in amusement. In the sophisticated set of an English city, his cheesy New Yorkie accent really was out of place.

He never thought he would feel like he was a foreigner whilst in a Starbucks.

"Well, can I have a double espresso with hazelnut and cream?"

"Uh, sure. Having it here or to go?"

"Here would be great. And I'd like, a sandwich too, if you have them."

She nodded and craned her neck back, to check the food cabinet.

"Sure, get your own sandwich when you pass by, but would you want to pay now?"

"Oh yeah," Al pulled his American express from his old cookie monster wallet, before tucking it back in the ass pocket of his jeans. "Thanks. And do I have to pay to use the internet or…"

"Wifi is free." The girl smiled and keyed instructions into the cash machine. She had her lip pierced, Alfred realised with a sudden lurch in his stomach. She didn't have a stud in, but it was visible when she smiled. A lover lip piercing, centred on her chin…

"Please swipe your card when you are ready."

...

Alfred finished marking the last essay in his inbox (God he missed marking things on paper…) and sat back. Seven empty coffee cups littered the table before him, two plastic sandwich boxes and a small plate that had earlier bore a fat muffin were swimming amongst the paper-cup sea. One of the cups fell off the table and bounced across the ground when he reached to remove his glasses and wipe them on the hem of his shirt. He swore, and bent down to scoop it up.

He scooped all of them up in the end, choosing to be gracious and dumping them all in the bin, before approaching the counter again.

"One more please." He adjusted his glasses and miss Melanie hurried to oblige, dropping her horse and pony magazine and leaping on the coffee machine.

"Now is probably a dumb time to ask," she giggled, "but would you like to join our coffee club? One free coffee for every ten you buy."

Alfred pretended to think about that for a moment, and nodded.

"Y'know, I might just." he paid for his drink with cash this time, and sipped it calmly as she began hunting around under the counter for the fat wad of cards she knew was down there somewhere. Her hair bounced prettily as she went about it, and Alfred found himself admiring her soft green eyes and melanin speckled cheeks. He nibbled his lower lip, and set his cup on the counter.

"Hey, um…" he leaned forward, trying to glimpse her nametag. "Melanie?"

"Mm?" she popped up, tucking her hair back and searching around the cash register, for a stamp or pen.

"Are you… busy Wednesday night?"

Alfred hadn't looked at a girl for a long, long time. He hadn't been on a date even longer.

He thought, when her face lit up and she dropped the pen she had found, of his last unfortunate foray in the world of romance with a mildly surprising distance, considering. It wasn't that he was lonely, per se… more maybe just that as an attractive ex-homecoming king and Footballer relatively _accustomed_ to having a girl on his arm he felt _obliged_ to have one. It wasn't that Melanie the coffee girl was very remarkable, because though she was pretty she also really was not, and it wasn't that Alfred was interested or attracted in her at all… he was just kind of bored, and missed having a friendly female on the other end of his SMS's.

"Me? Oh no! Not at all! I mean, I work but I can just change my hours. Why? Is that a platonic question? Or are you asking seriously? What?"

Al laughed softly and picked his card and coffee off the counter. "Why don't you come sit with me for a bit. Take a break." A winning wink, and the girl's apron was off in a flash. She more or less leapt into the empty chair opposite her handsome Yankee customer, and immediately began playing with her hair.

Not focused, Al shut his laptop and set the coffee atop of it.

"I was thinking maybe you and I should get a movie…"

The girl was so flustered, she knocked Alfred's coffee over by accident. And Alfred laughed, when his computer spluttered, and the little red standby light flickered on and off and on again in its last struggle to maintain life.

...

_jaaaa... i was worried i wouldnt be able to get this posted tonight. i went to the city today with a friend, and then i lost the friend, and we almost missed our train hime, and then there was panic and frustration when we got to my hometown and there was no bus to take me the 7kms to my house... and all was very hectic and blarghhhhhh~ OTL_

thanks titoes who betad. i dont own hetalia. please review? :3


	9. EIGHT nothing interesting to see here

"Let me see your Physics paper." Matt demanded, flushed with agitation and embarrassment. "I failed mine miserably. I need something to compare it too."

The two sat in the back of class, on tall science stools beneath a large poster of the periodic table. First thing on Monday morning, the post-tests for the last topic had just been returned, and Matthew had been less than impressed with his work. 79% was the lowest he had ever gotten on anything, and he had studied really hard on this one too. What a terrible way to start a week.

What, why?" Gilbert frowned, still chewing his wad of gum in that disgusting, open mouthed way Matt hated. "You know I failed even worse than you."

The paper in question was face down on the desk. Gilbert hadn't even lifted the corner, to check his marks.

"I know, but I want to compare anyway. So just-"

His hand was slapped violently out of the way and Gilbert secreted his test down the front of his pants.

"Don't." he snapped, and Matthew's face took on an expression of pissiness comparable only to his mother, when his Dad turned down her sexy advances in favour of the doctor who marathon on a Sunday night.

"What? Why? You let me see all your shitty English and history results! Let me look at those!"

"No!"

A small squabble broke out, and more than a few turned to look. Roderich being one of them. A light smirk pulled his lip and he smoothed his fringe back before returning to writing his marks neatly in his planner. A fat, juicy 98. He was pleased with the days accomplishments.

"Hey! Gilbert! What-your… Matthew! Stop that out!" their physics teacher, an old somewhat creepy guy who spoke terrible English in a fractured Asian accent, waved at them angrily, storming up the aisle and pulling the two boys apart.

"Dick." Matt hissed at his friend. Gilbert poked his tongue out, exposing his piercing, and thrust his crumpled paper further down into his crotch. It was uncomfortable, but better than Matthew seeing his results.

"Are you boys need detention?" the teacher asked. "Matthew, you need more study hard. Not fight. Maybe if you fight less, you pass next time!"

Everyone in the class giggled and Matthew sunk into his seat, humiliated. God, why was he born?

It was then he decided that he would have to find a physics tutor. Someone to make him a little less dumb when it came to things like particles, and basic math.

"Heh," Gilbert chuckled, chewing on the end of his pencil, when their teacher wandered away. "Maybe if you less fag, you win scrap next time."

Matt sent him his most livid glare of death, but it was wasted. Gilbert found the whole thing quite hilarious.

Neither of them mentioned Saturday evening, or the events that unfolded then over.

:::

Gilbert dropped his bag heavily on the desk, a quick glance around the classroom assured him that neither Matthew nor his teacher were there yet. That meant he had a small window of time in which he could pursue what he had to, without being embarrassed or getting a detention.

He drew a deep breath, for luck, and adjusted his shirt. His target was in place, nose buried in a small novel, one leg folded over the other real arrogant like. His eyes slitted, and he forced himself NOT to think of the other buying condoms. Or having sex. Or being intimate with anyone who wasn't… he was getting carried away.

"Right-oh, specs." He slapped his brain to order and took a deep breath. "Here I come."

He loped straight past everyone else in the room, making a beeline through huddles of students around desks, eyes not shifting once from the boy who had just turned a page, finger pressing to his lower lip and stroking absentmindedly. His girlfriend was no-where in sight. Good. Gilbert didn't want to have to wail on a girl, but he would if necessary.

"Oi, Roderich." He pulled his most glowersome face. Roderich raised his eyes from his book and batted long black lashes his way.

"Yes, Gilbert?" a faint flicker of fear showed in his eyes and inner Gilbert hollered triumphantly. Because _I__know__something__you__don__'__t__want__anyone__else__to__know!_

"This… shit I have to help you with." That ball deal that had been weighing on his mind for far too long. "What is it and what do I have to do."

"Oh! That!" obviously relieved, Roderich set down his book, expression passing to shock, that Gilbert had even approached him.

"Well, this is awkward then Gilbert, because I uh… well. Huh." He pushed his glasses further up his nose and glanced at his book on the table.

"What?" Gilbert could feel his face darkening. What the hell. Why was he hesitating?

"Well, I didn't expect you to actually take the initiative to approach me about this, and… I'd anticipated on doing it alone."

And Gilbert thought, in that moment, that the slight little musician may as well have just slapped him.

What, the fuck.

"Huh?"

"Well, it's like this…" Roderich squirmed uncomfortably, clearly distressed. "I don't actually need your help…"

To say Gilbert's jaw dropped was an accurate description. Flushed roses blossomed on his cheeks, Roderich rubbed his beauty spot anxiously, avoiding the larger boys eye.

"You mean to say that I came over here, in front of everyone, to talk to you, for _nothing?_" his voice lowered to a dangerous hiss, a flat palm thumped on Roderichs desk and he lowered himself to eye level.

"Well… on the bright side… you uh… don't have to do… anything…" the prey batted his wide eyes, cheeks drawn pale, tensed and leaning as far away as possible from his aggressor. "Now please don't hurt me Gilbert. Be a gentleman and sit back down."

Gilbert's face contorted, blood running hot in his veins. If he wasn't ticked before he fucking was now! That kids sweet little gentleman routine always riled him up, made his face pink and his heart feel weird.

"Well then if you didn't expect me to help, why did you even suggest it you little shit?" he demanded. Roderich jumped.

"Because… because…"

"What, you didn't want me to get in trouble? You didn't want me to get more detention? Or suspension? You suggested it for my own good?"

Now. An interesting thing about Roderich Gilbert probably would have been wise to notice before hand was that he was a young man with a limit. He had a line. As expected of an intellectual well raised musical prodigy in designer clothes and neat little boy-boots, he came across as waif like and delicate prick to most the majority of the time, but push him to far and BAM. He came back on you like last nights expired curry chicken surprise. So Gilbert was understandably surprised when his eyes grew wide for a moment, before pinging to firm slots and glinting with formally unobserved anger.

"Actually, I did it because I felt sorry for you." Roderich jibed, voice soft and laced with a threat.

_Take your hand of my desk and get your face out of mine before I whack you one with my violin case._

Gilbert stood back up straight in shock.

"You what?"

"I felt sorry for you, okay? I heard someone telling everyone you did it, and I felt sorry for you, because you have no friends other than whatsisname, you are too dumb to learn anything, and you seem to have this desire for attention that can only be quelled by pulling shitty, attention grabbing stunts like that. I felt sorry for you. There I said it." He jerked gilberts hand roughly off his desk and tossed his nose in the air. "And also, you work at 'stop and shop'. Now if you don't mind, please leave. I don't want to talk to you."

Having just, for the first time in his life by anyone other than his stuffy old brother, gotten told, Gilbert didn't have a clue what to think, feel, or do. At all. He just stood there, dumbly, staring at Roderich who had combed a stray lock of cocoa brown hair off his face and resumed reading, as though he didn't notice the tall pale boy hovering over him at all.

People were starting to look now. And Gilbert's face was flooded with heat. He felt like Matthew! That kid was always blushing, it must be contagious. Goddamnit. With his pale skin, even the faintest blush rendered him fair competition for any passing fire trucks on the by.

He was actually relieved when the bang of a door and the drawly American 'Sorry I'm late class' distracted him and everyone else from what was going on.

Shooting Roderich one last filthy look, swallowing his heart again (somehow, during the course of that interaction it had leapt to the vicinity of his throat) Gilbert edged back to his seat and flopped down. Matty still handn't arrived. Which was a shame. Because Gilbert thought briefly if he were, he probably would have enjoyed seeing the flustered state mister Jones was currently in. Gilbert could practically hear his soft voice.

_Ah, Gilbert. He's so cute._

But he didn't think on it long. He had a bothersome taste at the back of his mouth, and for some reason the bridge of his nose was hot and his eyes prickly.

He balled his fists and let his head fall to the table with a dull thunk. Maybe some sleep would help clear him up.

:::

"Where were you, naughty naughty…"

"Shut up I need to talk to mister Jones." Matthew stormed into the classroom when history was finished, shoving past Gilbert, looking liable to spit fire. Deciding he would keep his distance (Matt had been shitty since his failed physics test yesterday morning) Gilbert sighed and carried on out the door. Matt set his jaw and stalked to the front desk, coming to a halt and pouting spectacularly at Alfred's back. The man was to busy cleaning the blackboard to have noticed his presence yet, and frankly this was not good enough.

"Sir?" he snapped, and Alfred jumped. "Could you pay attention to me for a sec?"

He was surprised to hear Matty's voice so sharp and agitated.

"Yah, sure. You're a little late to class I-"

"Yeah thanks I know." A humourless scowl, Alfred withdrew immediately and stared.

"Uh… okay then." He set his duster down on the ledge and took a seat behind his desk. "How can I help?"

"I was wondering if I could switch history classes."

The request was unusual, especially seeing as Alfred only had three history classes and the other two were at a level much higher than Matthew's current one.

"Um, do you mind if I ask why?" brushing his fingers through his hair, Alfred regarded the child and thought briefly that he looked frustrated and tired, a few pimples on his chin. His clothes too were much less remarkable today, jeans and a t-shirt, and lacked the soft charm that Alfred had initially recognised in him.

"Because I failed my last physics test and need this class slot for one on one tutoring. But I can't drop history because my dad will kill me." Matt was even in too bad a mood to acknowledge that dropping history meant bye bye Mr Jones. "So what, can be done?"

"Matt, I don't think-"

"I don't care!" a sharp stamp of a sneakered foot and Alfred leapt backward. He was new, to dealing with the child of Francesca Bonnefoy, and though he had already successfully passed phase one with flying colours without noticing, phase two, dealing with spoiled, pissy matt was something he wasn't sure he knew how to do. "Just sort it out, please. I will be waiting for a message or something. Bye."

He spun on his heal and stalked off.

It wasn't often, Matthew got bitchy. It wasn't often he found himself so embarrassed or so goddamned furious with himself or others that he snapped entirely. Sure, being constantly ignored was a little irk that no doubt built up over time, and being treated like glass by doting parents had certainly helped to instil a facet of snotty 'sore looser' in him, but really, as a whole, he was a pretty balanced and mellow guy.

Or at least on the surface.

"Wait! Matty!" Alfred stood and hurried after him, catching his elbow just as he was on his way out then door. "Wait, come and sit down, we can sort something out now."

"Well I'm kind of in a rush." He said shortly. He wasn't, he just wanted to get home and fucking watch cartoons.

"We can sort it out fast. Come on." An insistent tug, matt found himself pulled back in the room. The door was shut behind them. He huffed, but didn't struggle.

"Now, sit here and tell me what's up." Alfred hopped up, settling crosslegged in his desk chair and beaming brightly at his grim looking ward.

In the face of that smile, matt felt himself calming significantly. He sighed, and approached the desk.

"I'm sorry sir, for getting shitty with you. I'm just… kind of upset."

"Well clearly." A kind smile, that Matt half heartedly returned. "Now, what were you saying about tutoring?"

Matthew took his seat on the edge of Alfred's desk amongst papers and empty bottles of cola. His satchel thumped to the ground by his foot, and his hair fell across one shoulder carelessly, with unbeknownst to him Alfred found extremely endearing. He pushed his glasses a little up the bridge of his nose.

"Well, I need a physics tutor. I'm failing and I can't fail, because if I drop below ninety percent average in any of my classes my dad won't let me play hockey next season. The only problem is the only gap my physics teacher has free is first line… history class."

Alfred nodded, bringing a pen up to his mouth to chew.

"So you want to switch classes so you don't have to drop history?"

"Yeah."

A slight, comfortable silence fell. It was easy to hear, with the quiet reigning, the clatter of students in the carpark larking, and the hum of a vacuum cleaner starting up in the classroom next door. Matt found himself feeling suddenly very self conscious, and like a total card for being so unpleasant to a man who really did seem genuinely concerned about his dilemma. As well as that, that strange fluttery feeling in his chest was coming back, and he didn't quite know how to handle it. Rather than look at his teachers face and lovely blue eyes, he stared at the laptop closed on the desk and decorated with stickers. It was ancient, he suspected, and thick, pasted with cartoon characters he only obscurely recognised and, surprise surprise, American flags. It wasn't the same laptop that Mister Jones had started with. It was a different one. Disjointedly, Matt wondered where the other was.

"You know, I don't actually have a history class you can shift to I'm afraid. My other class is scholarship, and the other again anthropological science. But I do happen to know that mister Karpusi has gaps in his classics class? Classics is kind of like history…"

"I don't like classics sir. And I don't like that class. Everyone wears togas and walks around quoting Socrates."

"Not a fan of Socrates?"

"… clearly I am not."

Alfred chuckled and reached for his planner on his desk. "Well, okay fine. How desperate are you to keep taking history?" he clicked his tongue and flicked through pages of moving plans, unkept chore lists and the occasional box marked 'MARKING'. "Because if you really, really want to keep on study, I'm sure we can work something out."

Matthew almost melted off the desk in relief. Now his father wasn't going to make soup from his bones. That was always a good thing.

"I'm desperate sir."

"Okay then," kindly eyes scanned the journal, and he nodded. "Leave it with me. I will send you a message when it's all set and let you know what's happening."

"Oh, good. You're a hero sir."

Alfred winked cheekily and matt felt his cheeks flush. "I do my best."

The two parted ways on a high note, and matt was content to walk with a bounce in his step all the way home.

:::

_Thanks again titoes, my beta. I don't on hetalia…_

_Also, I would like to apologise for lack of consistency in this fic… im a disgrace, please take pitty? OTL_


	10. NINE in which the author looses the plot

Three empty boxes into a dumpster later, Alfred was done.

He clapped his hands self importantly and grinned, mounting the rickety stainless-steel emergency access stairs that ran down the back of his apartment building like a spine and clattered up three steps at a time. He wasn't _supposed_ to use those stairs, but he did anyway.

Fuck the police, etcetera.

When he reached floor number five he slipped through the emergency door once again, clicking it shut behind him, and with his hands in his pockets swaggered down the hall toward his flat.

A good days work.

Of course, that brief job satisfaction only lasted as far as it took to get from entry point to the front room of his quarters. Waiting for him, neatly piled and condescending, was a treacherous pile of essay marking he had to do, a new series of papers in relation to 'the incident' he had taken to referring to as his 'prior occupation' (Ludwig and his paperwork! By god…) and his organiser. Which was so fat with to-do lists he suspected that he may just have to burn it, if he ever wanted to sleep again. He'd never rest, if he had to work the whole way through it.

Flopping uselessly on the sofa, he scratched the joint of his knee where some bastard mosquito had sucked his blood and it was starting to itch, and pulled his computer forward. The remote was by the little potted cactus (captain cactus, if anyone asked) he had bought to brighten the flat; he switched on the tele while his laptop booted, and the Simpsons theme song filled the room.

"Ah, God that's good to hear!" he logged into his user panel, popped open his school user net records, and started searching through files for that one, Bonnefoy, first name Matthew.

Matt's request had haunted him all afternoon. He really, really didn't want to let the boy go. Not only was he bright and beautiful, he was a talented student and fun to speak with. This was reflected in his marks, which flickered lowly on screen. He was actually in the top four percentile at the school, which was remarkable considering there were about 1500 students there, which was in the top ten percentile in the country, and yet despite this the small box on his record, with the label _teachers comments_, was devoid of writing altogether. As if his teachers keyed his results in on auto pilot without any care as to what they were, and them moved on to glorifying less pleasant and less intelligent students for no apparent reason.

Alfred frowned, and scrolled down the page. At the top, there was of course and awkward and unflattering photo of Matt at age a little younger, before puberty started kicking in. A head and shoulders shot of a soft, baby cheeked boy with braces that peeped nervously through his smile and a slim, feminine neck. He looked about eleven? But Alfred knew it must only have been taken at the start of the year. Weird how they did that, kids. They just wake up one morning and BAM, PUBERTY!

He switched pages, from the boy's information (address, parents contact numbers, school history… none of which he was interested in or paid any heed to) to lists of classes and extra curricular he took.

History  
>Social Anthropology (corr)<br>English lit  
>French advanced<br>French lit (corr)  
>Physics<br>Statistics  
>Art design<p>

EXTRA CURRUCULIM  
>Gymnastics team<br>Hockey first eleven  
>Drama club (prop developer)<br>French club

A quick glance at the codes at the bottom (corr meant correspondence course) and he flicked pages again. A neatly blocked in timetable popped up, and Al's jaw loosened in shock. He wondered how the kid had time to breathe!

Most students at the academy took… maybe five subjects? This left a lot of space free for study in their timetables. But not Matthew. His was positively choca. No wonder he hadn't been able to find a suitable slot for physics teaching. He had absolutely no free periods in a week. None. Save Wednesday afternoon. And Alfred knew because he had seen him there last week that every now and then he went to the library after school too, to study.

He pressed his lips together, at a loss for what he should do about the whole affair, and switched to a new page once more. This was a discipline record, and had only two entries.

_Smoking in School property, one days detention_

_Food in library, wilful destruction of property. Billed to the value of damaged book._

Not very interesting. But if Alfred had wanted to see and interesting discipline sheet he would have gone onto the one belonging to a mister Gilbert Beilschmidt (who he was convinced, as quiet and tolerable he was in history class, was only still enrolled because his brother and uncle ran the school) and read through that instead.

He did not.

The final page was honours. Of which Matt astonishingly had none. It was as if the school didn't care about him or his impressive intellect. And still without the faintest idea of what should he do about the situation, he sat back, and lifted his eyes to the television.

He really, really didn't want to loose Matt as a student.

Though he had only been at the academy for a little over a week and hence hardly knew the pretty, quiet boy in his class, Alfred was one of those people who, as soon as he decided he liked someone, knocked aside all the barriers and expectations and immediately saw them as equals and friends. It wasn't often he took such a shine to a student, (he would probably have done better to NEVER EVER take such a shine to a student, actually) but when he did, well…

He was not going to let Matthew Bonnefoy go, and that was that.

Even if, he thought dryly, he did take French literature.

Alfred really didn't like the French.

And so he sat there on his sofa for almost half an hour. His eyes were fixed on the television, but he wasn't really seeing what was on the screen. Instead he was reflecting, wondering, pondering, trying to think of a solution to their dilemma…

And then realisation hit him. Everything suddenly made perfect sense.

He leapt on his computer, looked up Matt's contact number (this was actually a teacher no-no) and keyed it excitedly into his phone. (This was a no-no even bigger.)

"'ello?" a soft, curious voice answered. Matt had been on his way out of his after school book club (in which he sat silently and listened and no-one paid him any attention) and was more than alarmed to feel his phone buzz in his pocket. "Matthew Bonnefoy, who's speaking?"

"Hey, Matt, is mister Jones here."

Matthew's face flooded bright red, he tripped on the sidewalk he was walking across and stumbled. His scarf slipped off from around his neck.

"Mister Jones? What-how…"

"Yah, hi. So anyway. I was thinking about your little history dilemma this afternoon… uh evening," A glance at the clock told him it had gone six o'clock, "and I think I have a solution to your problem." His planner was open on his lap, Wednesdays date a big fat empty space. He liked to reserve Wednesdays for gaming and chilling, because he didn't have classes Thursday mornings (plus, he had a date this week… shit, he mustn't forget that), but here he thought he could make an exception…

"Wednesday afternoons, you get early off, right?"

"Mmm…" on the other end of the line Matt shuffled around nervously. He worried his heart beating might be audible over the line, and to hide it, he covered his mouth with his scarf.

"Well, how would you like to meet up after school Wednesdays to study? I can tutor you for history one on one. Sound good?"

Matt's jaw was floored.

"Yes!"

His acceptance was loud. So loud that even the lady packing her kids into the car across the street turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yes that sounds wonderful! Oh my god thank you…" relief and excitement came out on a wave of light, breathless laughter. Alfred found himself smiling, immediately assured that this was a good idea. "That sounds great."

"Awesome." Al scribbled the date in his diary and slammed the heavy book closed. "I will see you tomorrow in class then, okay? Bring some food."

"I will."

Matt snapped his phone shut, stood there on the street for a second grinning like a dick…

And then he couldn't hold it in much longer, jumping up and punching the air in his victory and convincing the lady on the opposite side of the street he was dangerous and she had better get the hell away fast.

…

"Here no you eat it like this-"

"Gilbert I know how to eat cheese sticks."

"It's not a cheese stick it's a cheese _stringer _you're supposed to peel the st- what are you doing? Matt don't you dare… don't you dare bite it matt. Matt! Aw man…" Gilbert gave up in his attempt to wrangle the high in calcium snack treat from his friend and gave him a look of such defeat and disappointment it was adorable. "You fucking _bit_ it."

Matt stuck out his tongue and took another aggressive bite of his peelable cheese, taking more delight than he should have watching the others reaction.

"you're a bad person, Matthew. That's the last time I bring you shit."

"You didn't bring me this, I asked you to buy it for me. Where's my change by the way?"

"god…" grumbling, Gilbert dug around in his jeans pocket for the receipt and few coins he had left from the twenty pound note matt had sent him to the corner store with. "I feel like your bitch sometimes."

He dropped the money on their usual table in the library, next to the crumpled cheese stringer packet, a bottle of strawberry milk, a croissant and a packet of slim cigarettes, and slumped down on the edge of it, scowling. "You're lucky I like you, kid."

Matt shrugged, and returned his attention to the entrance.

The reason Matt had sent Gilbert on his flunkying was because, since he had arrived at the library that evening indecently excited and dressed up only a _little_ more than usual, he genuinely couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes from the library door for more than a _moment_, in case mister Jones decided to show up the split second he did and happened to miss him, tucked away as he was like this. Its not like Gilbert had anything better to do… he had skipped school that day anyway, and upon being asked why he replied 'pimping bitches' (though Matt knew it really had something to do with his embarrassing little 'crush' admission that he was still waiting for Matt to mention,) and glared, as if challenging someone to dispute this. More likely he had cloistered himself in a local bar despite being underage and charmed his way to the bottom of a pint of beer.

But whatever.

"You aren't staying." Matthew commented lightly, finishing his peely cheese and sucking his finger in contemplation. "I don't want you mucking up my tutoring."

"_I don't want you mucking up my tutoring_."

"I do not sound like that."

"_I do not sound like that._"

"Stop copying me."

"_Stop copying me!"_

"My name is Gilbert and I'm an egotistical cunt with no dick."

"_My name is Gil-_hey." a demanding finger was pointed, Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Nice try, kiddo. But I'm not an idiot."

Matthew smiled sweetly, looking totally innocent in every way. And sure enough, in the moments he wasn't watching the library door a busy, ruffled looking fellow with bright hair and an armful of textbooks clattered straight in.

"I didn't say you were. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to look for… oh shit." Suddenly, there he was, mister Jones approaching cheerfully, focused on the two of them and smiling. "Okay Gilbert piss off."

"Hey what if I want some tutoring to-"

"_Piss off!_" Matt shoved him away, cheeks pinkening, not taking his eyes off his teacher. "I will talk to you later!"

Grumbling under his breath, Gilbert obliged, and straightened up, hands jamming in the pockets of a black, potentially offensive hoodie, boots clomping mutely over the carpet of the library floor rug. Alfred smiled at him when he passed by and received a chin jerk in response, which was for Gilbert pretty close to a hug. Of course, he didn't know this. He arched his eyebrows, feeling a little shunned actually, and carried on walking toward the flustered looking, prettier than usual if that's possible, student awaiting his wisdom.

Matt noticed, with some surprise, that Gilbert and mister Jones, when they crossed, were the same height.

Strange, he'd never thought of Gilbert as tall before.

"Hi sir" he spilled, scooting his food and cigarettes out of sight and clearing a spot for Alfred to sit down. "You're early."

Alfred checked his watch in puzzlement. He was pretty sure he was late…

"Uh, well…" Alfred dropped his planner and the tree textbooks he had brought with on the table. "Okay then. I'm glad you could come." He smiled and combed his hair carelessly off his face. "Are you ready then, to begin?"'

…

One hour later found the two hunched over not a text book, but Alfred's planner, playing an intense game of hangman and sharing a packet of gummy worms Alfred had brought with him underneath the desk.

"Is it…" Alfred looked at the half spelled word. "_o_e_ess_om_nt_c?"

"…" Matt cocked his eyebrow, bemused by the frown of concentration on his teacher's forehead. "Well it is at the moment, but… no."

"It's two words?"

"Yes…"

"I have five more guesses?"

"Yes."

Alfred sighed and sat back in his seat. "I dunno… 46?"

"That's not a letter, stupid." Grinning Matt penned in another limb on the poor stickman about to loose his little stickman life. "Nice try though."

Alfred pulled a face and jammed his hand in the bag of gummy worms.

All three worksheets he had printed for Matt to do were completed and cast unimportantly to the side.

"Can you just tell me? I suck at this game…"

"Nope. Sorry sir, but you gotta guess."

"Right, fine." Alfred cast his eyes over the page, looking at Matt's other word choices in amongst his own simple selections like 'marmalade' and 'appleseed', which he had mistakenly spelled 'applesead'.

_Rose petals_

_Caramel_

_Intimacy_

_Handsome_

No pattern leapt out at him. He stared at the mystery word again, and viciously tore the head off an unfortunate green and delicious victim. Matt watched him do it, the way his jaw shifted subtly beneath his skin as he chewed, the sharpness of his profile worshipfully masculine and chiselled. He had faded scars, Matt noticed, by his ears. They were obviously acne scars because Gilbert had the same across his shoulder blades. Alfred remained oblivious to the intense stare he was under, and the fact it had gone five already.

He had a date in half an hour.

"Nope." He clicked his tongue and shook his head, looking over at Matthew sheepishly. "I can't. Sorry."

Matt smiled, a wide, coy smile. The smile that made his eyes glitter like fairy lights, the smile that for a split second made Alfred think of dawn breaking. In that moment the low light of the library hit the planes and curves of his face just right, the angle he sat at flashed a peek of prominent collar bone. Alfred's heart had a small double take.

"I will leave it there then sir, and you can think about it later." He looked down to the planner and flicked his fingers lazily over the fan of tatty pages. "While I'm thinking about it sir, you can tell me Friday in class." He smiled at the planner, as if he and it shared a secret. He had, Alfred noticed, such spidery thin fingers. "My physics teachers free day is Friday, so he won't be at school to tutor me then."

"Oh, awesome." Alfred's countenance brightened at the thought of having Matt in his class once more. "That's great."

Matt flushed and bowed his head, flipping to the next page in the planner. Tomorrow. A Thursday.

Upon seeing it, Alfred had a little thought he _probably_ shouldn't classify as exciting. He glanced at the completed worksheets, at the (relatively) empty entry for Thursday, and cleared his throat.

"Actually, Matt, how about I let you know tomorrow." He leaned over the planner, nipping his pen from Matt's fingers with the hand not holding the gummy worm bag. "after school again. Here. I'm on library duty anyways so if you want…" He scribbled the appointment in and Matt felt himself blush all over. Not just his face, but his chest, stomach, and between his legs as well. "Are you doing anything?"

"… Nope."

Alfred nodded, letting a small smile tease the corners of his lips.

"Well then." He murmured lightly, tipping his head to see if he could catch Matt's gaze. "I suppose it's a date…"

…

"Oh shit!" Alfred remembered very suddenly a matter of great importance. Specifically, his date with whatever her name was, Michelle or something, from Starbucks. The moment, as small as it had been, was shattered, and Matt jumped, jerked from reflections of blue eyes and soft kindly lips to a state of almost panic. What was wrong? Had he said something offensive?

"Oh shit sorry Matt, I just remembered something very important." Alfred dropped the gummy worms and began packing up his stuff as fast as possible. The librarian was ringing the 5.15 pack up bell, to signal the library closing come 5.30. He wouldn't have time to go home and shower now, and he would just have to go to the bistro as was. He hoped it wasn't a _fancy_ place. "I'm sorry, I have to run. But thanks for coming, you did brilliantly, I will see you tomorrow."

He snapped his planner shut, a small slew of paper scraps fluttering out, and dashed before Matt could make sense of what had just transpired.

Wide violet eyes trained after him, before dropping to the small litter he had left behind. It wasn't much. Some receipts, candy wrappers…

And a photo. A baby photo, of a blonde haired, bright eyed child in a pretty white gown.

Matt picked it up and flipped it. There was writing on the black, a no-nonsense rounded sort of script that matt just associated with middle aged men like his own father. He was sure he had seen it somewhere before…

_Alfred, Love dad._

Alfred, eh? Matt stored this knowledge away carefully, a small delighted blossom of excitement in his stomach to finally know his teacher's first name, and thought to himself that he should probably give this back, as much as he wanted to keep it.

Alfred Jones had been a very cute baby.

…

"Matthew."

Matt jumped, spinning around on his heal and almost walking into a chicken wire fence. Roderich's hand flew up to cover his mouth, stopping in place, looking very well to do as always in trousers and a beige waistcoat.

"Oh my…"

"Uh… its okay?" Matt stepped away from the fence, closer to the curb on which he was waiting for the bus. "It was my bad?"

Matt hadn't even realised that Roderich Edelstein had known his name.

Awkward about the situation, Roderich dropped his hand, revealing pursed lips and a sheepish flush.

"Right, right…" he took a deep breath and his eyes fluttered for a moment, as he prepared himself to sink that low. "I need to ask you a favour."

"A favour?"

"Yes…" he nodded solemnly and cast his eyes nervously away. "I need you to give me Gilbert's cell phone number. Please," he pulled a face. "Don't ask why."

…

**Tada, that's it for this chapter folks. Anyone who can guess what the word was matt was hang-manning gets a free internet ENGLAND COOKIE! Delicious, right? **

**Also, im sorry for the shitness. I put off typing all week and then it was Saturday morning and I was like 'oh FUCK' and here we are. **

**Hm.**

**Please review? I will love you for always of you do… I would love to have fifty reviews by chapter ten. *w***

**Also, for those who are interested, I now run what the French would call 'le porn blog' on tumblr. That is, a blog on which I post hard hetalia yaoi doujins and pics and occasionally fics etc. the link is in my profile. :D **

**Finally, I do not own hetalia or the characters. Yaes…**


	11. EXTRA CHAPTER ONE Alfred's date

HELLO~ hello. ^^ here, for all of you interested, is a special not entirely nessecary bit of story i wrote today that i thought i would stick in here for your enjoyment. :D  
>its called ALFRED'S DATE, and little actually happens, but meh.<br>Totally dont own hetalia etc...

* * *

><p>Alfred sipped his wine as best he could without spitting. He hated wine. Really hated it. But this place really wasn't the sort that served root-beer. They already pretty much hated him for walking in wearing jeans and a laptop bag, and he felt that if he asked about it he probably would have been kicked out. Fortunately, his date really did not seem to care. She was sitting opposite him looking a million dollars, holding her wineglass with two hands and sipping it shyly. Her mooning eyes, the pale hue of grass, swam over his features and frankly she couldn't <em>believe<em> her luck. He was just… so… _perfect_. He reminded her forcibly of her ex-tennis tutor, a wonderfully attractive man who had looked past her in favour of uncountable whores and later married a rich older lady and her million pound house.

Except without the jerk.

The Lady and the Lake was a riverside bistro, filled with orchestral music from surround sound speakers and glowing with a lavish golden tone. Everyone there wore dresses and suits, expensive laughter filled the space. He knew he shouldn't have let her choose, but he was gracious anyway, smiling and ordering only what he could afford for himself, but allowing her the best with the assurance 'I can pay'.

He was really not hungry, anyway, and as enthusiastic as he had pretended to be about his fancy stuffed pepper things, he could help but shake the conviction that gummy worms with Matthew Bonnefoy had been the best meal he was going to eat all week. Not in a nutritional sense, of course, but rather a recreational one. That and well, Matt had been better conversation. All this girl did was sit there and ogle him as if he had never seen a human man before.

He found himself a little self conscious, and in his anxiety rubbed his knuckles over his left cheek. He hoped she couldn't see his acne scars or anything. He knew from experience that they showed up more, in low light.

"Soo…" he folded his arms and leant forward on the table. "Melanie?"

"mm?" she jumped and set her glass down hurriedly. "yeas? Hello? Hi." An eager little grin, flushing heavily, she bowed her head. "That's my name…"

"Sure is." Alfred winked and crossed his legs under the table. "I like your hair tonight too. Looks pretty."

And it did, her lovely chestnut ringlets arranged in a pile of pins and a black ribbon, to match her dress. She had a heart shaped face, and arching brows, and wide curvaceous lips that reminded him a little of someone else's, someones he couldn't quite place…

He liked her lips the most

"Oh! Well thank you."

"You're welcome" he craned his head above the tables, looking for their food. They had ordered a good half an hour ago, but he was yet to see it appear. He suspected it may have something to do with his attire…

"Gosh, the service here is a little crap isn't it? I want my stupid peppers already!"

Melanie nodded, a little over enthusiastically, and inwardly he sighed. As nice as she seemed, she was clearly one of_ those_. A shy girl, the kind that nodded and let him tell her what to think, and like, and do. Push over wasn't a word he liked to use… he dismissed it immediately, but it was there for a moment, and it made an impression. And god… he still had a movie with her to endure yet.

He was startled when, in her reedy, sweet voice, she asked; "hey, Alfred?"

"mm?"

"Tell me… about yourself?"

"Oh!" a bright grin lit his face. _That _was something he knew how to do! "Sure! What would you like to know?"

"Well…" she thought for a moment, there were about a billion things she wanted to know and they had all been messing in her brain since the previous Sunday. The hard thing was deciding what to ask first. "Your accent. You aren't from here, right?"

"Nope." He combed his fingers through his hair and leaned back in his chair. "New York City, little lady. For a good twenty odd years."

"Soo… you weren't born there?"

"Nope."

He didn't expand on that though, his attention captured by the waiter approaching them from across the room. The waiter with a plate of what was unmistakeably stuffed peppers, weaving through tables of well-to-do diners and looking quite unimpressed about it.

"Oh hey." He pointed, much to the disgust of the other customers. "I think that's our foods."

Alfred so was not cut out for this fine dining stuff.

…

He wasn't so much cut out for this movie, either.

She had chosen an insanely pathetic crying movie. One with boy meets girl, girl meets car crash or something of the persuasion, and he was at the bottom of his carton of popcorn. He had a fierce craving for gummy worms. Melissa or Melanie or whatever her name was had made herself comfortable against him, hooking his arm around her shoulder, and smiling into the dark.

He sighed, switched his crossed legs and tipped his head back. His mind began to wander, to the game of hangman he and Mattie had been entertaining earlier that afternoon. He wasn't sure… but he felt a little bit as though he was being a little dumb here. The answer was probably most obvious. If he cared to just _think_ a little harder. But no, easily distracted Alfred, his mind had taken a tangent tour entirely away from not only the movie, but the game of hangman too, wandering instead down much happier, much more cheerful avenues of reflection. Avenues like the _next_ afternoon studying with Matthew, and listening to his breathy voice, and watching him smile in that utterly adorable ay he did.

He decided he would bring a bag of wrapped toffees to the session tomorrow, rather than gummy worms. Did Matt like toffees? He looked like the kind who did. Or maybe something different, something special…

He would have a look at the counter, when he left.

And after the date, entirely happy with the selection of candy he had chosen from the cinema candy stall, Alfred agreed thoughtlessly to another meeting that Saturday.

It wasn't until he waved her goodbye, on her way from the car, that he realised.

"Oh Shit!"


	12. EXTRA CHAPTER TWO worst extra ever

**WHO IS THE WORST HUMAN BEING WHO EVER LIVED? T^T**

Yeah, hi. That would be me… OTL

I just… I cant even articulate how sorry I am for not keeping to my update schedule with this. -.- I would give you all a great old excuse, but I don't have one.

Im really just a horribly, inexcusably, appalingly lazy and generally unmotivated cunt.

BUT I ALSO HAPPEN TO BE A HORRIBLY, INEXCUSEABLY, APPALINGLY LAZY AND GENERALLY UNMOTIVATED CUNT WITH A SIX PACK OF CULT ENERGY ACTIVATOR… and I am going to sit up all night typing up the missing three chapters as soon as I have posted this 100% lolsey (in the not serious sense, as opposed to the humerous one) piece of shit. :I

Fuck to the yes.

…

Matt lazed on his bed, reflecting on many things but mostly reflecting on Alfred Jones, and the way he smiled, and the way his hair fell when he tossed his head.

It was late, the evening was drawing to an end and Matt had neglected to shut his curtain, the occasional car lamplight creeping across the ceiling glowed and reminded him of Alfred. The scent of his sheets reminded him of Alfred. Everything around him, actually, in that moment, reminded him deliciously of the handsome blonde and his easy, cheeky grin.

Well, everything except his pillow, which was actually the one Gilbert had been using Saturday night and he had forgotten to wash. That reminded him very much of Gilbert, and the scent of the after shave he used clung to it like burrs on wool. Not that Matt disliked it, he just found it all very different to the one he had detected lingering on Alfred's skin.

Not that he had been sniffing his teacher.

Okay. Maybe he had, just a little bit.

Smiling privately to himself, he rolled onto his stomach and reached for the vibrator that had been lying on his bedside for a while now, unused, actually, on account of being distracted by other things.

He held it, weighed it in his hands for a moment, and wondered.

Despite having masturbated with this tool, and before that experimenting with fingering, for the last four years, Matt had never once had an orgasm while fantasizing about another man. The inclination had never arose in him, because he had only ever rarely found the face and body structure of a male to be attractive and he was the kind of guy who regarded the whole, as opposed to small, specific details on which to focus.

That and he wasn't really sure as to how he was supposed to go about it. With girls, after all, things were easy. A mental image of them taking of their tops, maybe spreading their legs, and allowing him to run his fingers over the wet tucks and folds of an alien place usually did the trick. But guys?

He didn't know where to start.

There must, he thought as he twiddled his sex toy quizzically, be a way. After all, Gilbert must do it in such a manner, if he fancied the slightly insane (Matt suspected) musician kid. But Matt was not prepared to go to his best friend for masturbation advice. There were limits, after all, and he really, actually, didn't want to know.

He thought so, any way.

That being said, it really was a bit of a pondering. Matt found himself all very distracted, and lying back on his bed with his special object held to his chest, trying to imagine with a slight frown on his brow Gilbert _wanking_. There was, after all, no doubt he did it, but it was quite the grey area. He had never thought of such a thing specifically before.

And mister Jones.

Oh god yes, mister Jones surely, _surely_, would masturbate.

His face exploded into pink, in the darkness his skin darkened several tones, his cheeks flooding with a high blush. And yes, there it was, that leap of horniness in his lower abdomen, Matt wiggled around self consciously, and tried to calm his flustered heart. One hand slipped beneath his sheets and he tossed his hair out into a loose fan of curls and gold, his glassesless eyes falling shut like blinds, clipping out the light.

Maybe, Matt thought, mister Jones didn't touch himself in the same way he did. Maybe he just sort of… yanked it, like most guys tended to. It was fast, easy, and sating, but it wasn't the same as really indulging, and taking your sweet, luxurious time with your body.

Gilbert seemed like much more the sort to really pleasure himself. Not on the surface, sure, but if there was one thing Matthew Bonnefoy knew it was Gilbert, and for absolute certain, he was in love with himself. So in love with himself that Matt was convinced, were it legal, he would ditch all dreams of Roderich entirely, in favour of marrying his reflection and making love to his mirror every night.

But the thought of Gilbert fancying Roderich (and the way neither had even mentioned it since Saturday,) made Matt a little twitchy. Not uncomfortable, just twitchy, and he hurried to find something to divert his attention. Something blonde, sexy, and confident of course, the conjured image smiling in a seductive sort of manner. Eyes that blue shouldn't be able to heat someone the way they were heating Matt, but he didn't dismiss the image, slipping slightly sideways into his fantasy and suddenly seeing them fringed with flashing red.

His heart leapt, and he quivered a little, a hideously appealing and utterly _filthy_ idea taking root in the recesses of his mind.

He couldn't, could he? It wouldn't be right, it would be way too weird…

But who was that little, perverted voice inside of him that whispered: _they didn't need to know_

They didn't, right?

And the more he thought about it, the more he got turned on, and the more he got turned on, the more he was inclined to agree with the little creepy voice.

Besides, Gilbert did kind of owe him for not telling about the Roddy thing… and who's to say Gilbert didn't totally jerk it to Matt and _him _(Roderich, not Gilbert) getting it on? Not that Matt would ever even consider looking sideways at the snooty ponce-bag.

That was one thing that Matt would have done well to learn, mind. In some of their haughty mannerisms, Roderich and Matthew were very much the same.

But only one of them actually fapped to mental GilbertxAlfred Jones porn.

...

FUCK I AM HUNGRY AS FUCK…

Food first, THEN write three chapters. I promise.

WOOOOO! GETTING SHIT DONE!


	13. TEN

PLEASE EXCUSE ME… im going slowly insane…

…

Gilbert was watching television the next morning, sufficiently swaddled in duvets and sheets, knowing he should really be getting to school but unable to bring himself to do it.

He was feeling a touch unwell, and that may have been on account of the five large beers he had finished off the night before, but no-one was pointing fingers. He was already nursing a light pilsner, not really complimenting his bowl of cocoa pops but good enough, and thinking that he should probably stop by work that evening to buy some more…

Over the last few days, Gilbert's drinking had exploded in frequency.

The time, according to the clock on the mantle, was quarter to nine. He really should have been going but instead, reached for the TV remote on the arm of the sofa and switched from 'The breakfast show' to Nickelodeon, where classic nick would be playing until mid-day.

Gilbert. Fucking. Loved. Hey Arnold.

He pulled his blankets up with a rustle and curled up in his little corner, cosy. Not even his cellphone ringing startled him, and sighing he thrust his hand out from the marshmallow of blankets he had made for himself, to grab it. It was probably Matthew or something, being a whiney little man-lady. As much as Gilbert loved the kid, (platonically! Gosh…) sometimes he just deserved a slap for being a pretentious little snob. Kind of like…

"Gilbert? Is that you?"

Gil's eyebrows flew up and he almost dropped his phone.

"What?"

"Is that… never mind, it obviously is."

Roderich cleared his throat, and it echoed oddly over the speakers.

"I needed to talk to you about something."

"… Where the hell did you get my number!"

"…" Roderich was left speechless for a moment, and Gilbert couldn't _believe_ what had just happened. His heartbeat was huge. He as sure it was in an attempt to escape his chest. His hands were warm and sticky with sweet. Of all the things he would have anticipated happening to him before ten am on any given day this was probably somewhere around the bottom of the list. Like, under 'pterodactyl rape'.

He was not prepared for this. He just… usually, to speak with the guy Gilbert needed a good ten minutes to work himself up, and even then he came across as a clumsy violin-sitting-on-jackoff. He hoped he didn't do anything to stupid over the phone. If that was possible.

He was sure he would manage a way.

"I got it from whatsisname."

"Matthew?"

"Yes, him."

Oh, Gilbert was going to _kill_ that little blonde brat.

"Well," he snapped, shuffling around in agitation and missing an important plot point in the cartoon. "What do you want then?"

"Um…" Roderich sighed a little. "Well, are you at school today?"

"I will be in an hour or so."

"… Well is it okay if we meet up? I need to talk to you."

Gilbert swallowed.

"Give me fifteen minutes."

…

_Oh my god he's so beautiful…_

Gilbert stopped in his tracks, a little way away from the young man standing outside the locker number 247, either texting or playing fruit ninja on his fancy pants iPhone. It was hard to see, from this distance.

Dressed in black cargos and a long, white tee, Roderich looked simple, but amazing. His arms, pale and slim, sported too many books, his hair was, as always, flawlessly arranged. Everything about him, his glowing skin, his lovely, lavender eyes. Gilbert swallowed, smoothing his hair down self consciously, and taking a deep breath he went forward.

"Oi, princess." He sounded a lot better than he felt. "I'm here."

"Oh." Roderich turned around, eyebrows arched, and closed his locker. "Hi. Right. Well, would you like to sit down somewhere and chat?"

He grumbled, and shrugged non-comittially.

"Whatever."

Roderich tried to smile, and tucked his fringe behind his ear. The awkward blush that glimmered on his cheeks was breathtaking.

"Great." He took a deep breath and started to walk away. "Follow me."

They got to the library, and grumbling Gilbert conceded to hold the door open, though Roderich didn't notice. The first desk he saw, he dumped his books and took a seat.

He then gestured to Gilbert, who dropped himself into a chair, his eyes rolling like marbles.

"Don't be so polite and pleasant, you little shit. I'm not telling anyone about your fucking condoms so you needn't suck up."

Roderich hissed, but did not retort. Instead, he reached for his day planner and flipped it open to the days date.

"That is not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Pfft…" Gilbert pulled a face. "whatever."

"…" a narrowed eyed stare, he sunk a little lower in his seat and avoided meeting Roderich's gaze.

"Fucking ponce," he murmured under his breath, attention genuinely invested in the poster on the wall advertising free STD screening. The comment was missed, which was probably a good thing, as Roderich started flipping through papers and other such organisational equipment a little… anxiously. If one could describe anything he did as anxious. Given the grace in which he conducted himself mind, probably not. He sighed, finding what he was looking for and pulling it to the top of the pile.

"Right, Gilbert." A small, polite smile which Gilbert didn't return. "I've asked you to meet with me because I need a favour."

"A favour?"

"Mhmm."

He sighed and leaned forward in his seat, a little fluttery in his stomach to have his crush approach him for a _favour _and also a bit pissed. Partially serious, he replied, "I will tell you what I told Matt. No employee discounts just because you know me."

Roderich's polite smile dissolved into a dry one that indicated he didn't miss the joke, and he dropped his attention back to his papers, pretending he did.

"Not that kind of favour, Gilbert. I mean… in relation to the school ball."

Gilbert scoffed. "Didn't you say you didn't need my skills for that rendezvous?"

"Well, I changed my mind. Now I do." He tipped his head sweetly and nodded. "Will you help me, or not?"

"… I'm not sure. What do I get out of it?"

"I don't tell Mr Vargas you are a lazy asshole and deserve to be kicked out."

"… hard to believe so much evil could be crammed into one punny body."

"I could say the same about you."

An uneasy, competitive silence, filled with loathing both secret and not-so-secret, depending which genre of loathing one was addressing. Roderich broke it first, licking his lips and combing his fingers through his hair.

"In any case, I got a message last week relating to the band that was supposed to play the night there, and they cancelled. I managed to find a drummer, a pianist, a vocalist, and a clarinet player to replace them…"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, not seeing where this was going.

"But… I can't find a violinist. Which you are one, aren't you?"

Oh wow that was an unpleasant surprise.

"What?" unable to believe what he had heard, Gilbert leapt forward and went to cover Roderich's _stupid, secret spilling_ mouth. "what what what ex-nay on the iolinist-vay, asshat! Who told you that? Was it Matthew? Holy shit I am going to _murder_ that cunt in his _sleep_."

"It wasn't…. Gilbert. Gilbert calm down stop… stop doing that! I will bite your fingers!"

Red-faced and sulking, he let his company pull his hand away and place it carefully on the table. That thing, Roderich now knew the one thing he hoped most in the world he would never, ever know. He was now convinced he wanted to die.

"I don't want to have to bite these fingers you know." Roderich pattered his own touch over them lightly "I need them."

He tossed his hair back and with his spare hand, nudged his glasses up his nose.

"Soooo… will you? Play at the ball?"

He didn't even have to think about that for a second.

"No! Fuck no! Of course not! Go die. Why don't _you_ do it instead?"

"Um, because I will be attending the ball."

"So? Maybe I might be 'attending the ball' too? Didn't think of that one, didja?"

Roderich laughed, he had a very light, honeyed laugh.

"Oh what? Sorry, are you serious? Oh wow, with who? Your girlfriend Palmela Handerson?"

Gilbert's fingers clawed angrily and he noticed with a heartleap that Roderich's were still laced loosely atop them. This escaped the musician, who was too busy being amused at his expense, but it weighed heavily on the mind of the subject, who felt rather as though he just may as well just lunge at him and rape him all up a little.

"No, but seriously Gilbert, I need you to play at the-"

"I will NOT do it! I wont, I wont, I-"

"Gilbert, you have too." A smile that was quite obviously _not_ supposed to be gracious (Roderich was through with graciousness by now) "you set fire to a toilet."

Gilbert sagged noticeably around the shoulders, brow deeply creased.

"Who even told you this?"

"Mister Vargas of course."

"which one? The retard or Feliciano?"

A scathing look, but it earned no response other than "is this Saturday good for you?"

…

Matt was gazing longingly at the facing bookshelf, not seeing the books at all, but instead so thoroughly lost in daydreams he didn't hear the man creep up behind him, jacket swinging carelessly in his hand and suddenly held forth to drop on his head. It corrupted his vision and sent a jolt of surprise through him.

"Oh! Oi! It's you! Hello."

"Hey, how's my favourite going?" Alfred laughed lightly and ruffled the jacket on Matthew's head, pulling it back, hunting for his face. Matt laughed, tipping his head back and adjusting his glasses as mister Jones came back into focus.

"You shouldn't have favourites you know."

"I know. It's a secret," he winked and dropped the jacket around Matt's shoulders, edging around and tumbling into the seat beside. "Don't tell, 'kay?"

Matthew laughed and tucked his hair behind his ear coyly. Al smiled, struck again by how pretty he was.

"I like your shirt." He commented. "Did you make it?"

"Um… no actually. My dad did." He looked down at cut sleeve shirt he wore, his bare arms pale and slim, the pale lilac ribbon at the throat flattering his eyes. "I hate it. It's so girly…" he pulled a face and tugged on the ribbon. "But I wear it 'cause he made it for me special."

"Hm. Well, I love it." Alfred set his satchel on the table and began hunting through it. "But… I guess it's maybe a little bit girly."

Matt smiled and leaned forward, thinking that _maybe_ he had just made a new favourite item of clothing, and licked his lips.

"Hey, so… are we gunna…"

"Gunna what? Study?" Alfred found what he was looking for, a fat bag of caramel chews, and pulled it out. "Yeah, I guess so. But first, you gotta tell me." He pulled out his planner and opened to their yesterdays game of hangman. "What was the word?"

A sly smile crept across Matt's lips.

"Oh… I don't know what word you could possibly be meaning."

"… I will give you candy?"

And who was he to resist perky blue eyes, and the promise of chewy, caramel goodness?

"Okay, deal."

…

Alfred had been looking forward to it all day, and so had Matt. Sitting through classes, waiting to be together again and talking freely, teasing, flirting…

Alfred was having way more fun watching Matthew read than he had had the night before with whatshername. He wasn't surprised. Once again, they were swiftly working through the work Al had chosen, and Matt was just finishing off his last worksheet before addressing the practice test paper ready for marking.

Matthew was on cloud nine. The answers to the questions just rolled off the surface of his mind onto the paper, each one memorised by a specific word, gesture, or expression on behalf of his teacher. With a flourish, coiling a lock of hair around his pinky in case maybe mister Jones was peeking, he finished, setting his pen down and lifting his eyes.

"Done sir. Can I have more candy?"

"Shouldn't eat so much candy kid," Alfred chided, unwrapping a toffee to suck, "it'll give you spots."

"Like that one on your chin?"

Alfred jumped, expression of horror flickering his face as his hand flew to his chin, to check. Matt laughed and lit his hand on his tutors.

"Its okay sir, I was joking." To prove his point he brushed his own fingers over the man's chin briefly, the skin there a little rough with stubble. His heart fluttered excitedly and he yanked away before Alfred had even realised what had happened, blushing and suddenly fascinated with the surface of the table they were sitting at.

"… Oh." Alfred relaxed, and rubbed his cheek self consciously. "Phew. Lucky little brat, aren't you? Perfect skin…" he smiled reflectively, when matt glanced up to assess the mood of the address. "When I was your age, I had zits like no-one business. It was awful."

Matt scoffed. "I do not have perfect skin! My mum is just paranoid. You know she sends me to a dermatologist each month? I still get blackheads on my nose." He tapped it matter of factly, and rolled a skein of hair off his face. "But… I still want candy." A bright smile, and Alfred relented, passing him the bag.

The two passed into a comfortable silence, pressed a little closer tan probably decent, the slighter of the two leaning not so surreptitiously against Alfred's shoulder. He hummed, letting his head tip back, and lifting his gaze to Alfred's. From this position, he could smell his cologne. It was nice, rugged. Expensive but not too expensive. Kind of denim, kind of boy next door…

"Hey sir?"

"What?" Al inclined his head down, whisking his bangs aside.

"…" Matt popped a toffee into his mouth thoughtfully. "I can see up your nose from here…"

"… I can see down yours."

Grinning stupidly at each other, they remained, contented, until Alfred remembered he really ought to be teaching. He couldn't help it though, that kind of distraction just happened to him around Matthew. He made it easy to just, disregard responsibility and eat sweets. He sighed heavily and pointed to his planner.

"If you're done, pass me that. I have a test paper in there for you."

"Sure, sur-oh!" his students eyes widened for a moment behind his glasses and he sat up straight, clearly remembering something. "That's right, your planner." Frowning, trying to recall where he had put the thing, he reached for his satchel and began rummaging around. "Yesterday, when you left, this fell out." He found the photo at the bottom of his pencil case and brandished it triumphantly.

"You were an adorable baby."

Alfred frowned and took the photo. It was small, of a child in a pretty white dress. Alfred recognised it immediately with a significant guttural lurch.

"Oh, that's not me." He said, more calmly than he felt and accepting the picture. "It's my little brother. Er… half brother."

"Oh, you have a brother?"

"Half brother, yeah."

"What's his name?"

Al's brow creased. "William I think."

"Ahh…" His student nodded, running his thumb over his bottom lip thoughtfully. "You… think?"

"Yeah, we never met." Alfred had tucked the photo back in the end of his planner again, letting it fall back open to this weeks affairs. Thursday was today, Friday tomorrow, and…

Oh shit.

How could he have missed that?

The little box for Friday was marked with a large, blue highlighter star, and the note read 'dinner, bring a dessert'.

Tomorrow was his bog family dinner thing, and with everything that had been going on with… his student, he supposed, he had totally forgotten. He made a note mentally to stop by a supermarket on the way home then.

"oh really? I have one of those too. My dad's first wife or something." Matt pulled a face, and Alfred was startled to attention. "I don't think I want to meet him though. He sounds like a looser."

Alfred chuckled. "Mine sounds like a spoiled brat."

They laughed lightly for a moment, and matt leaned forward, chewing his toffee and pondering.

"He lives in America?"

"Oh? Nono. Here. I was born here. My dad lives here. I just moved to New York when I was younger. My mom died a year ago and I was fired, so… I came back."

"You were fired?" disbelief curled Matt's lip, and Al nodded.

"Yeah, long story." Alfred wasn't altogether sure he wanted to go there. "I worked in a private girls school, as a student teacher tutor, and I tell you what it's not easy being the only one below thirty in an academy. The other teachers picked on me and the girls I taught saw me not as a teacher but a potential love interest."

Matt's heart had a little spasm.

"I'm sure that would have happened irreguardless of where you may have been working."

"Hm?" to prove his point, he combed his fingers through his bangs careless and allowed the tiniest of seductive smiled to tease his lips. "And why is that?"

"You are very attractive." Feeling daring, matt locked gazes with him, pupils dilated, cheeks dusty pink and doll-like. "And I'm sure the girls just drop head over heals for you."

"… Something like that." The compliment had had the exact desired effect, rocketing Al's gut to somewhere around the vicinity of his shoes and stalling him for a moment, lost in a glimmering storm of lilac and lust. Everything about Matthew Bonnefoy in that moment was perfect. His eyes, his nose, his lips

_That's where he recognised whatshernames lips from! They weren't the same… but they were similar in shape…_

And his hair. Even this cute stray curl that sprung a little in his face. It was exceptional.

He wondered what would happen if he tugged it…

This was an idea he shouldn't entertain. And he knew it.

Instead, reluctant, he sighed, nudging the other to sit up and leaning forward across the deck to gather up papers.

"I should be going now." He told him calmly, packing his shit away. "I just remembered I have things to do. you take that test home and do it tonight. But…"

"I will be in class tomorrow, yeah." Matt grinned and snatched another sweet, before the bag was tucked away. "Physics teacher being blergh, blah blah whatever…"

"Hmm." Alfred thought briefly of an interesting something he had noted whilst going through his roll earlier that day, entering practice test results into the database. It wouldn't have jumped out at him, if it hadn't been the lowest score he had ever marked on a test he had been entering, and the whole 12% out of a hundred hadn't so thoroughly fascinated him that he couldn't help but look at the boys overall school results, and subsequently almost keeled over in surprise. "You know, I dunno why you don't ask mister Beilschmidt to tutor you for physics. You could come to my class that way, don't you reckon?"

Matt scoffed. "Really sir? I think mister B has better things to do with his time than teach me about a subject he doesn't know anything on. Especially with Gilbert to look after…"

A faint frown creased Mister Jones's brow.

"… It was Gilbert I was talking about."

…

Okat, I think that will do. Ugh… im going to bits here. I cant even remember what my plot was. -.- which of course presents an interesting problem.

Don't own hetalia. *slowly dying*


	14. ELEVEN fuq da polizei

_CHAPTER ELEVEN_

_Oh god, so I was writing this and then I realised I should probably like, hurry up and advance the fucking plot so I can write sex already! So here, this is the plot point chapter in which I skid almost ninety degrees and fuck all up in some more shit and shit. Yow…_

_Yeah, this makes no sense and doesn't fit with the rest of the story at all. Deal…_

…

Alfred Jones pushed his trolley down aisle six of Pak'n'save, trying to think of something, anything, he could make and take to his dad's house the next day.

The food here… what the hell? What in fucks name was 'spotted dick' and since _when_ could you buy it in a can? He was tempted to buy some, just to try, but wasn't sure he wanted to take chances. He had already had a really unpleasant experience with something called 'black pudding', and he was really not keen for a repeat performance. At all.

He selected a can of peaches in syrup instead, deciding he would make a peaches and cream layer cake and if no-one liked it they could get fucked and he would eat it himself. He didn't have that little pudgy roll padding his tummy for nothing; cake was something he was halfway decent at making. And after checking with his father his other staple food source, burgers, were off the menu.

Curses.

So Alfred carried on tottering down the canned food aisle, looking this way and that, eyes skimming package after package of unfamiliar edibles. His trolley was around half full, and most of its contents were marshmallows, but no-one seemed bothered by that. He whistled calmly to himself as he went, and after seeing nothing else of interest five or so aisles later, decided to give the last three a miss and skip straight to the paying. He kind of wanted to go home. He had a stack of marking he should probably do, but also, he really wanted to go online and indulge in that new video game he had purchased, the one with the zombies.

Alfred had been having a bit of a shop, that evening. After leaving school with a spring in his step and his mind on Matthew (a pattern was developing…), he decided he deserved it.

He jumped when his phone rung.

"Yello? Alfred Jones."

He answered before he actually pressed the button, on the other end 'fredones' was the only perceptible sound heard.

"Hello Alfred, it's your father."

"Ah. Yeah. Hi." Alfred lifted a hand from his trolley and massaged his temple, which had suddenly tightened considerably. "What's up?"

The person on the other end was silent for a moment, before responding.

"I don't know what that means, but I'm fine. How are you?"

"Uh… I'm okay. I guess. I'm shopping."

"Oh, are you? Excellent, I'm glad you have found a niche."

"… Dad, its just down the road from where I live."

Both fell silent this time, a pause in which Alfred found a lineless checkout, and began to unpack.

"Well, anyway." He asked, dropping a bag of 'mister mallows flavour-filled marshmallows' On the conveyer belt. "What was it you were calling for?"

"Ah, well. I was going to ask you a favour."

Alfred grunted, finishing up with the unpacking, unsure if he should feel happy about that, or burdened. "What is it?"

"Well, do you have your mother's wedding ring and jewellery by any chance?"

"Yes, of course. Why?" suddenly suspicious, Alfred narrowed his eyes. He nodded to the pretty blonde girl scanning his groceries, and fetched his tatty Scooby-doo wallet (he had found it in the course of his unpacking, and immediately pulled it from retirement) from his ass pocket. His eftpos card… he knew it was in there somewhere.

"Ah, excellent. Well, because we never saw each other again before he died, I never had a chance to ask for them back. Do you think, on Friday, you could bring them for me? I-"

"No!"

Alfred F. Jones had heard some offensive things in his life. He had been called a dumb American, a hillbilly (like he'd be caught dead marrying any of his cousins) a fatass. Hell, some kid had even told him to go eat yoghurt testicles (whatever that meant).

But of all the unpleasant and offensive things he had ever heard in his life, having his estranged father ask him to return the wedding ring of his dead mother, that was by far the worst.

Absolutely and completely, the worst.

He practically threw his eftpos card at the checkout operator, face inflamed, wild cowlick quivering in fury. He crackled and burned, radiating an aura of wrath that could probably have killed someone with a weak countenance.

"Like hell would I do such a thing! How could you even… why would you suggest that? That is the rudest, most horrible thing I have ever-"

"Uh, sir?" the girl on checkout interrupted his tirade, eftpos card held questioningly above her head. "This is an American card, we can't take it."

This was the last straw for Alfred.

Shooting her a dirty look, he yanked the card off her and stuffed it back in his wallet. There were a few hundred pound notes he had crammed in there too, ones he had been saving to buy some new clothes when he had the opportunity, which he pulled out instead and threw in her face.

"Fuck you dad, you can stick your dinner up your ass." He thumbed the red drop call button and thrust his phone back in his jacket.

"No receipt."

And snatching up his grocery bag of food, Alfred left. Walking straight past his car, he headed blindly toward the river. Tears pricked his eyes. Furious tears, hurt tears. Tears of hatred and betrayal and frustration. Because these feelings weren't new.

Regretfully, they weren't new at all.

Zombified emotions, dragged up from the memories of an abandoned boy, emotions of hatred toward the distant father and a faceless child. His mother, dragging him kicking and screaming from his home to a place he didn't know, the ring on her hand cutting his flesh deep where she gripped him.

Goddamnit it wasn't fair! How did they think they could do that to him?

Alfred's furious pace slowed a little, as he approached Harcourt's relaters on the corner. The little lane, a pedestrian road of sorts, parallel to the river was pretty. Stone terraced flats, small but pleasant to look at, boasted lace curtains and decorative numbers on the doors. One had a cheerful red windowsill, and a window box overflowing with what looked like white creeping roses winking and fluttering in the chilly evening breeze. A wooden boardwalk decorated with the occasional bench overlooked the water, a few cherry trees down the middle of the stone walkway were naked and quivering, but anticipated a burst of pink blossoms, come spring.

Alfred found himself calming down a little, as he edged toward the closest bench and took a seat on the cold wood. There were words scribbled there, in vivid.

'Charlie+Rhonda'

'Anarchy rules'

'Ride the magic school bus.'

Alfred sighed, and looked over the water to the mirroring terrace, on the rivers opposite side.

He pulled a package of marshmallows from his grocery bag, and proceeded to eat the whole lot.

...

Matthew settled down on his sofa/foldout bed, and set up his laptop on the chest in the centre of his small one person flat. He scrolled through movie after movie, trying to pick a good one to watch before going to sleep, but settled on watching a nice little French film festival clip instead. It was shorter, and he favoured the plot over any of the generic Hollywood shite being puked out by the busload.

He clicked play, and reached for his fork and plate stacked with warm syrupy pancakes.

He decided that maybe, once he had finished watching this, he would get his vibe out of the bathroom too, have another little foray into the land of fantasy, before going to sleep.

Except this time he would exclude Gilbert from his sexy-times. He was mad at that lying little secret hoarder, and had been ignoring his texts for the last hour.

At the soft pattering sound of rain on his roof, Matthew glanced up and out the window. The sun was setting over the river, but he couldn't tell thanks to the thick, grubby cotton wool cloud cover stretched across the horizon.

His red lacquered window.

He swore under his breath when he realised it was still open, standing up and hurrying over just as the voice over on his movie started up.

"_Love"_

The words were in French, but Matthew understood well enough as he leaned forward over his television (he would watch a movie on that, but it was much to antique to host a DVD player. Or even a VHS) for the latch on his window to pull it shut. The wind picked up, and blew a few spatters of rain in onto his slender white wrist. He fumbled, unable to grasp the catch right.

"_It's a funny thing…"_

Finally! Matthew caught the latch and pulled the window stuck.

"_It__'__s__ like __fine__ wine, __fermenting__ slowly__ and__ becoming__ sweeter __and__ more__ addling __with__ time._"

The window secured, Matt reached to pull the curtains too.

"_It's like a bomb, waiting to go off… you never know when it's going to hit."_

Matthew was just about to tug the curtains closed, when he noticed the figure slouched miserably on the riverside bench, bright yellow Pak'n'save bag by his sneakered foot.

"Huh." He stopped listening to his movie and frowned. The jacket the man wore… he couldn't quite make it out, but for some reason it was very familiar. Tan, slick with rain, sporting what looked like a number on the back.

He combed his bangs, beginning to get a little agitated with that single stubborn curl, reluctant to take its position either side of his parting in favour of dangling limply down the front pf his face. the hair combing was a habit he was getting into recently, he'd never been able to do it before, when he was younger, his dad used to always make him have it cut when it reached a certain length.

Maybe, he thought, he would tie it up tomorrow.

"I know that person." He muttered, wiping his glasses in the hopes his sight would improve. "I'm sure I do…"

It took him a moment to click.

"Mister Jones!"

An attractive smile broke his face. Fancy that.

_I wonder what he's up to._

Matthew leaned forward, so his breath fogged the cool glass of his window. It was hard to see still, what he might have been doing. Just sitting, eating maybe.

In the cold grey rain.

"Hmmm." Matthew made a thoughtful noise, and knotted his lips into a reflective pout. He didn't look very happy… and it was starting to rain kind of hard…

Without thinking, Matt bustled away from the window to his flat door. He grabbed a blue beret and a large grey jacket, one he got for two pound from the Sallies, and tugged it on over top of his singlet and shorts. There was a pair of unzipped ankle boots in the rack, which he stepped into easily.

As a second thought, he grabbed the steaming plate of syrupy pancakes too, and his fork, before yanking open his door and clacking down the stairs to the front door of his terrace. The little poodle in the flat below him yipped when his boots clicked on the hardwood floor. The door rattled when he opened it, and a blast of cool wind prickled the exposed skin of his legs.

"Mr Jones," he murmured, pulling the door shut behind him and checking to make sure the man was still there.

Yeah, he was. And he was beginning to look real horror show now, blonde hair dark and slick with rain, coat dripping miserably.

Matthew, steady in his shoes and bearing a hot fresh stack of his best home made pancakes, leapt down the stairs and skipped over the by, hopping puddles and avoiding cracks in the crooked cobbles where water streamed in fresh cool rivets. The sent of cool damp stone energised him, and when he approached the back of the chair where the man sat, his cheeks were pinked, his glasses dotted with raindrops.

"Um, sir?" he cleared his throat and stepped forward cautiously. "Mister? Are you…"

Alfred jumped when he felt a gentle hand rest on his sloped shoulder.

"Woah! Watchit! Who the fuck are y- oh." He blinked a little, shocked. "Hey…" wide eyed disbelief, he took in the seemingly radiant vision before him. "It's you."

In the rain, Alfred didn't look nearly as confident and bright.

His hair stuck in clammy fingers to his cheeks, the usually quivering cowlick limp and dripping. Water tracked the length of his nose and dotted dark spots on his collar where it fell, his eyes were listless, lashes clinging together with moisture that may or may not have been rain.

Matthew noticed he had freckles. Very faint ones, he had only picked them out because it was so cold, and mister Jones looked so pale… they would have been invisible, in the low warm library light, and it was very emotive, to see yet another rendering of him so clearly.

"Well, Its nice to see you too sir!" he bantered, tossing his hair to the side and trying not to just throw himself at the man. Goddamn that one curl!

"I…" wide eyed and suddenly, inexplicably embarrassed, Alfred looked the boy up and down, jaw a little loose. "wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I wasn't expecting to see you either, but I looked out my window and there you were! I thought I should come down and see if you were okay. You don't look that hot…"

"ah, yeah…" Al scratched his nose awkwardly, a pale blush fading his freckles back into insignificance. "it's… no big deal. I just came here to think I guess."

"oh…" Matthew bit his lip. Up close, the man really did look forlorn! It was a strange thing to see. After all, Matt had only ever met the loud, boisterous Alfred (The one who laughed really obnoxiously, and pointed at people when he talked) and the Peaceful one on one Alfred (who gave out candy and let him prod him in the ribs, if he didn't like a given answer). But… it was a little peculiar, and he could tell Mister felt it too in the way he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and sort of shied away, that outside of the school library, things were different. There was a distance here, and it saddened him. "well," he tried, remembering his plate of pancakes and struggling to not be too disappointed by the lack-luster intimacy of the encounter. "I made these. Did you want some?"

And although the rain had wetted them a little, no one could deny that when he thrust the plate forward in offering, they really, really did look good. Thin, golden and topped with cream and blueberries, maple syrup curled and coiled in a dramatic drizzle across the surface of the stack. Warmth and a sweet, homely smell fluttered from the sunny surface, making sweet love to Alfred's senses and growling tummy (marshmellows weren't so satisfactory, even if you ate three large bags.) he pressed his lips together, incredibly tempted.

"Pancakes?" he managed, although it came out strange, high pitched and wobbly, as though his voice was cracking. "You saw me out here and you decided to make pancakes?"

"No silly." Matthew laughed and nudged his teachers hand with the plate. Reluctantly, Al took it. "I had just made some when I saw you. but I made to many." That was a lie, Matthew always made exactly enough. "so I thought I would bring you a plate. You looked so cold and miserable I thought it would be nice."

Alfred's heart fluttered, chest warming significantly at the act of easy kindness.

"oh god… thanks Matty." He took the fork being offered to him, and returned the boys smile a little less half-heartedly than he had intended to. "that's really sweet of you."

"It's not a problem. But hey, its getting real wet out here." No lie, the raindrops were getting fatter and fatter. Matthew gave it about two minutes before the heavens opened and it came bucketing down. "do you want to come in and eat? I can get you a towel or something too. How did you get here? Where do you live? Actually, how are you even getting home?" Matthew reeled off the questions as they occurred to him, forgetting for a moment that fine line between friend and teacher just like he would have in their corner in the library. (strange, they had only had two sessions there and it was already 'their corner'.)

It seemed to work though, because Sir's face glowed when he grinned in response, head shaking slightly in amusement.

"Actually," he continued, encouraged, "never mind, just come on up and we will sort it when we are there." An exuberant smile knocked Alfred right aback. The shock from seeing his bright little charge here was still wearing off, and having pancakes so suddenly pressed to him, along with a casual invitation to come in to his house and dry was another blow to his comprehension.

Dazzled, bemused, his heartbeat beginning to race, Alfred nodded.

"Excellent, come on then." Matthews grip on his wrist was light and warm. It sent an alarming jolt up Alfred's spine, shocking him from glorious paralysis.

"Ah, wait, Matty wait." He stood and looked around his feet for his shopping bag. "are you sure your folks will be okay with you dragging me into your house at…" he checked his watch. "seven pm?"

"oh, that's easy." With An airy wavy gesture Matt dropped Al's hand. "I live alone, no problem."

...

_wow have i lost enthusiasm for this fanfic. -.- sorry for the wait. i will try my darndest to find more inspiration/inclination in future... review?  
><em>

Questions and extras... fanslewfantasy dot tumblr dot com etc...


	15. TWELVE gettin' back in ze game

"This is… where you live."

"Yeah."

"Do your parents realise how… big it is?" Alfred dropped his pack'n'save carrier and looked critically around the room. It was small. Painfully small. a sofa, a bookshelf, a heavy antique looking coffee chest, a small two seater sofa and television were all which occupied the visible space. A closed door behind him may have been a closet, and a door-less cubby in the far left corner looked to conceal a terracotta tile kitchen dipping below floor level. Matthew nodded, setting the damp plate of pancakes down on the nearest flat surface. His clothes chest.

"Yes, but its okay. I don't take up much room."

"Where do you sleep?"

"The sofa folds out." He smiled and slicked off his damp coat. Alfred barely noticed, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

"Where are all your clothes?"

"The coffee table is a storage chest." Matthew knocked knuckles on the wood as he passed and pulled off his little beret. The laptop was playing his movie still. He shut it, and it cut off midway through a speech on beauty.

"Could you do me a favour and hang this up?" he threw his hat to his guest, who caught it with ease. "There's a hook on the back of the door."

"…Right." Alfred obliged, hanging the hat upon an already heavily weighted hook. The two satchels, four ties, scarf and three glowsticks it bore were not heavy, but the hook was loose. It would fall soon, he knew it.

"Hey, do you want me to screw these back in?" he fingered the loose flathead securing the hook and glanced at Matthew to gauge his reaction. "Otherwise this hook will go goodbye and tear a hole in the door with it.

"Hmm… no thanks. I don't have a screw-driver."

Alfred sighed and jammed his hands in too-small pockets before wandering over. He felt a little awkward, but not as badly as he imagined he would. Matthew had a strange aura about him that made you… relax. Sort of. Well, he knew that all too well…

"Okay." He bit his lip and glanced around the small space again. It wasn't uncomfortable, he decided, lowering himself onto the sofa beside the teen. That feeling of dread he should have anticipated would come with knowing he was violating approximately nine hundred rules was not that pronounced at all. It was rather like just sitting down casually with a friend. The decoration was nice.

Posters, a lot of film noir and art deco, were tacked all over the beams and gib board. Matthew had an affinity for old liquor advertisements and pears soap pictures as well apparently, a litter of framed absinthe panels that looked like they had been torn from the sides of French cafes or lamp-posts on a drizzly night dotted the walls at random, to quite an appealing effect. Many of the posters were in French, and there was a full bunch of white roses in a charity shop vase on top of the admiral television beneath the window. Not surprising then that it reminded Alfred of Paris, a place he had visited only once (against his will) with an old, pre-incident girlfriend. Although he had been ill the whole time and seen more of the inside of a toilet bowl than the mystical city of lights, it wasn't the sort of place that left you without a deep, almost intangible impression of jazz and coffee and beautiful women with smouldering eyes. He had never reflected on it before, what with how much he hated France and all those associated with the place, but it was kind of… nice. He supposed. If you squinted.

"I see you are very… artistic-y." he improvised a word, in the vain hope matt wouldn't notice. "You like French things?"

"_Oui, oui._ I was brought up bi-lingual. And I love the art and style. It's so… beautiful. You know?" he reached for the plate of pancakes, pushing them Alfred's way, and then leaned across the chest for the fork. "I've been there a few times. But a couple of years ago I lived in French Canada too. I really liked it there, I think I will live there, when I'm older."

"No way!" Alfred smiled, taking the plate of pancakes and flicking wet hair off his forehead. He was wetting Matt's couch, where he was sitting, but he didn't notice. "My neighbour to the north! America's awesome hat!"

"Oh please." Matt rolled his eyes and scratched his upper lip. "America is Canada's bitch." He poked out the tip of a neat pink tongue and Alfred's eyebrows rose a good foot. Or there abouts.

"Oh really? What makes you say that then, kid?"

"We have moose-ii."

"Don't you mean mooses?"

Matt shrugged. "I don't even know. But does America have moose?"

Alfred laughed and indulged in a bite of pancake. "Yes, actually, we do. Shame."

"Pff… bet they aren't as cool as Canadian moose." He settled back into his sofa and removed his glasses. "So anyway. Did you want a coffee of something? A towel? You're wetting my sofa up pretty good there."

"Oh shit! Sorry!" Alfred jumped up, suddenly remembering his jacket and jeans were dripping as though they were stitched with water threads. "I forgot."

"Heh, its okay. The bathroom is through there, there should be a towel on the hook by the shower.

"Right… thanks." Al sniffed and glanced down at his saturated trousers. "Is it okay if I have a shower too? It's kind of cold."

"Yeah, of course." Matthew lifted the abandoned plate of pancakes and carefully forked another bite into his mouth. "I will have a look for some pants for you, that you can wear home."

"Your pants won't fit me. You're too thin."

"Yeah, but I have to buy jeans two sizes to big for me so they fit over my hips. Don't worry, I will sort it." Another mouthful of pancake. "And just a heads up, the shower nozzle is broken. So don't expect any fancy pants high pressure shittery. I'm afraid I cant deliver on that."

"Righty oh. I'm sure I will live." Combing his fingers through his hair Alfred wandered to the door signalled as being the bathroom. "Is there a lock?"

"Don't worry about it. I won't be going in."

Assured, Alfred cracked open the door and flicked on the switch.

Matthews bathroom was small and delightful. Heated stone tile floor, brazen brass fixtures and a sweet, vanilla scent, the place was decorated with elegant plaques in French, and plenty of lush pomanders and powders and perfumes Alfred had to double take at, because he could have sworn they belonged to a woman.

He shut the door behind him and hit the light switch. The soft hum of a fan started up. Alfred was suddenly very aware that he was freezing.

"Mister Jones?" a muffled call, the sound of knuckles rapping on the door.

"Call me Alfred." He responded, removing his sodden jacket and dropping it in a heap to the floor. "What is it?"

"What size trousers do you wear? I have size medium and a size twelve."

Alfred thought for a moment and pulled off his tee. 'Who's your hero?' it boasted in black text. Currently, the hero was too busy being saved by the angel with the curly blonde hair to raise his hand.

"Uhh… can you give me the twelve?" he glanced at his stomach. It wasn't untoned, he did kind of have some abs going on… but they were a bit flabby. His ass too, he knew was a little… fat. Ish.

"Um, actually, the medium." He shook his head, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I just ate three bags of marshmallows and should probably accommodate.

"Three bags!" Matthew's disbelief was audible even through the wood of the door. "By god Alfred, why?"

Alfred.

The sound of his name on those icy pink lips made him freeze, and excited little tremor skirting the base of his spine enough to tease, but not enough to actually satisfy. A jolly in his stomach, as opposed to a leap. A tingle, which lacked the blooming warmth it promised upon relief.

"Uh… I was hungry?" he knew that wasn't the case. Alfred was a comfort eater. He put on a good ten kilos after 'the incident' and had only just returned to his original weight.

In any case, it satisfied Matthew, who had bustled off to find a pair of jeans.

Alfred sighed in relief, and shucked his own bottoms, before pulling open the shower door and wrenching one of the taps on. He would fine tune the temperature when he was in.

Underwear off, Alfred slipped into the shower, ears pricked to hear the rummaging sound of Matt searching for an old pair of levis. The water was warm, but not warm enough. He adjusted the hot tap and turned his face up to the stream of water. It steamed where it contacted with his cold skin.

Delicious.

By nature, Alfred was a fairly nosey guy. It didn't even occur to him until he was halfway through sniffing all the bottles and containers of soaps and gels and shampoos on the rack in the shower that he realised doing so was going so far over the line he could almost double back on himself. A bottle of pomegranate shampoo (why did Matt have so many different shampoos? Alfred had already sniffed a mint one and a cherry one and even a maple syrup scented one… there was different brand of mint sitting on the bottom shelf of the rack too, begging to be wiffed,) In hand, Alfred froze.

What the fuck did he think he was doing!

He set the shampoo hurriedly down next to the vanilla body scrub and fancy loofah, incredibly glad no-one else was in the room to see what he had just been doing. Good god…

He buried his face in his hands, that nagging voice at the back of his head being _quite_ irritating. Moreso than usual.

_He's just being nice! A friendly student. A good kid._

"Alfred!"

He jumped almost right out of his skin.

"Yeah?" hand pressed to the wall, he looked to the door.

"I have your trousers. Shall I leave them at the door?"

"Uh… no. its okay. I um…"

_You can come in! Please!_

"Actually, yeah, you better leave them there. Thanks."

"Not a problem."

Al sighed when he heard his footsteps carry him back away.

Deciding he had better stop sniffing shit, get sorted and leave before anything else awkward and un-take-back-able happened, Alfred glanced around for a bar of soap on the rack in the shower. He found one in a little plastic case at the back. It smelt of apples and cinnamon. Goddamnit why did everything in this kid's house have to smell so fucking good! He was sorely tempted to take a big fat bite of soap, but decided that that would be really hard to explain. He never got to eat those pancakes proper either.

Sighing, he lathered up and replaced the soap in its container on the shelf, next to the bottle of Dolce and Gabana (!) body gel and what looked like a slender blue vibrator.

Wait, what?

…

Matthew poured a generous dollop of fresh pancake mix into the pan, humming to himself, and licked the splatter off his index finger before placing the batter filled jug carefully back down on the bench. The smell of cooking pancakes was delicious and warm, he rather enjoyed the sound of the shower running in the room next door. It gave the flat a lively energy he was unfamiliar with.

"I met him out for dinner on a Friday night," the fridge hissed when he opened it, the seal sucking apart reluctantly. "He really got me working up an appetite. He had tattoos up and down his arm, nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm…"

Matthew didn't have the greatest singing voice ever. He was pretty sharp, and his freshly broken voice still wasn't sitting quite right in his throat. That didn't mean he didn't give it his best go as he rummaged around in his fridge for the bowl of cherries in syrup he had stashed away somewhere.

"he's a one stop shop, makes my panties drop, he's a sweet talking sugar coated candy man…" the lyrics faded into humming when he found the bowl, pulling it out and pealing back the gladwrap covering. He nudged the door of the fridge closed with his hip.

Americans liked cherries, right? He didn't have any blueberries left, so they would have to do.

The shower shut off around the same time as he flipped the first pancake. It didn't bother him, and he had another two cooked when a soft, nervous 'Matthew' roused him from attention to his task.

"Yah?"

"What am I doing with the towel?"

"Ah, just leave it in there." He called back, flipping the finished pancake out and pouring a fresh one. "I'll do laundry later. Do the jeans fit?"

"Um, yeah. They fit fine."

"Neat. Hey, do you like cherries?"

"… Um… why?"

"I'm making you some more pancakes. Was just wondering if you wanted cherries or- oh hi." He smiled and turned around when the freshly showered form of his guest appeared in the doorway. "Do you like cherries or would you rather have strawberry jam. I have both."

Wide eyes, cheeks darker than Matthew had seen them so far (he put it down to the heat. Alfred must have an affinity for hot showers, if the steam coiling off his damp hair was anything to go by), Alfred opened and closed his mouth, begging a response from unyielding air.

"I uh… yeah. I like cherries but-"

"Oh, good. Go sit down and I will bring them in to you. The tele is on. I hope you like 'Spongebob Squarepants' in black and white cause that's all we got." He flashed another angelic smile, and Alfred didn't know whether to faint or die of embarrassment.

"Look, Matty, I totally appreciate what you're doing but I should really go now…"

"Oh shush Alfred, if you appreciate it you can go sit down on my sofa and take it like a man." Matthew embraced his 'no means yes' French attitude without even realising. Good thing rape was the last thing on his mind, Alfred thought, because this kid… by god. He didn't look like much but he was the boss.

You didn't say no to him. Or more like, you couldn't.

Maybe it was those eyes. They were so sweet and bright, but also glittering dangerously. His smile, it got under your skin. It prickled the hair on the back of Alfred's neck and he tried not to think of the smooth chafed material in between his legs. Matthew's jeans, worn thin there by rubbing thighs. The same luscious white ones currently exposed by a neat pair of charcoal grey waist-shorts.

He hung his head to hide his blush, and receded back into the lounge. Yes, Spongebob was on tv. The picture was grainy, and bikini bottom looked fucking weird in black and white…

"Oh hey, if you want a bag to take your wet clothes home in, there's one on the hook on the back of the door. It has a maple leaf on it." A clatter from the kitchen, Matthew turned off the stove and finished up with the pancakes. A lashing of syrup, a handful of cherries. "Or if you don't want that one, there's a little flowery one too you could use. Here are your pancakes by the way. Oh hey, you can sit down you know."

Alfred spun around; Matthew standing at the door bearing pancakes smiled softly, and tossed his hair aside. "The sofa isn't going to bite."

"I uh…" Alfred couldn't do this. He just… oh god.

_Look at him!_ _Just fucking _Look_ at him! He was gorgeous. And sweet. And oh god…_

"I uh, really, really have to…" he struggled for words, Matty sighed and edged forward.

"Sit down Alfred…"

"Don't call me that!" a sharp whine, it startled Matthew, his eyebrows arched and he hesitated.

"Wha- but you told me to call you that?"

"Yeah, well I changed my mind!" he drew himself up and shook his head. His hands were trembling. God… the kid was beautiful. It was making him feel queasy, and he couldn't shake the feeling that the image of Matty using that vibe was going to haunt him for oh, the rest of time. Dredging as much maturity and professionalism up from the bottom of his soul Alfred cleared his throat.

"It isn't proper." He stated tightly, hurrying to the door and yanking it open.

"With all due respect sir, you are wearing my trousers…"

"I will have them cleaned and returned to you tomorrow!" he spared a ridiculous second to glance at the plate of pancakes, filled with longing, before turning his back and clacking hastily out the door. "I will see you in the morning, mister Bonnefoy."

And Matthew was left there, in his flat, holding a plate of pancakes and wondering if his teacher had a slight mental discrepancy.

…

**sorry its shitty im trying to get back into this story and having an interesting time about it. ,dfjksfjsjdfdshfjkdsvksd**

**own hetalia or le characters i do not**


	16. THIRTEEN in which not much happens

**Okay so I haven't posted this in a while, but here anyway. As you all know ive forgotten the plot and lost passion for this story, but im going to finsh it anyway because I owe it to y'all. I just ask you to bear with me because well, its goibng to take a while given my feelings about it now. But um, I didn't edit this so im sorry for any mistakes. I just want it up asap. I do not own hetalia.**

**Also, just out of curiosity, how many kiwi readers do I have out there? O.o **

…

"_Oh Alfred~" Matthew's hazed eyes fluttered shut, dark lips parting in an ecstatic moan. "Yes… oh yes… yes, yes, _yes_!" _

_Alfred winced and gripped his wrists, jerking him forward and pulling his face against his own in a messy, tongue everywhere kiss. His body… Matt's lithe little body, his thighs tensed around Alfred's waist and his chest thrust forth. His nipples were flushed and perked with arousal, his hair flowing like silk between clawed fingers gripping him, needing him, heaving with lust as the two twisted and moved together, pushing, hammering the mattress to release…_

"WAKE UP: WAKE UP: THE TIME IS seven am. IT'S TIME TO GET UP!"

Alfred groaned and reached for that goddamned son of a bitch talking alarm clock why the fuck did he waste all that money on it he didn't know.

He shoved it unceremoniously off the side table, it clattered to the floor and immediately fell silent, before sitting up and combing his ruffled hair down flat.

He had the biggest ass boner he had ever seen.

Groaning, knowing he didn't have time to go to the bathroom and whack off before classes started, he dragged himself out of bed to his chest of drawers and dug out a jumper and a fresh pair of pants. Mattys jeans were cast in a careless heap on the floor, he made a dull note to grab them before he left, dressing sloppily and dragging a hairbrush through his hair.

It wasn't till he had moped to the kitchen and drunken his second cup of coffee, he started to perk up. Rocketing from comatose to hyperactive in sixty seconds, Alfred dumped his cup in the sink and grabbed his glasses off the table.

The clock said 7.16am.

"Ah hell…" he trotted around his house, almost calmly at first, toothbrush jammed in his mouth and doing a fairly efficient job of not paying any heed to that god-awful complaining voice at the back of his head. It wasn't until he had grabbed his keys, bag over his shoulder, waffle stuffed unceremoniously in his mouth, that he remembered the jeans and that voice surfaced with a vengeance.

_Hey, do you like cherries?_

That question was going to haunt him for all time. He knew it.

Wincing, feeling a little queasy (god there were times he just wanted to beat himself with a stick. He was disgusting and perverted and fuck!) Alfred hurried back to drag the jeans, throwing them over his shoulder before rattling down the stairs and out the door. His car was waiting on the street, as always, and unlocked. He had been too panicked last night to remember apparently. To eager to get inside and have a freezing cold bath.

He sighed and threw Matty's clingy pants and his bag into the passenger seat. In the fresh air of the morning, Alfred couldn't help but notice the pants smelled faintly of that flat… vanilla rose-y and sweet.

He would.

Growling to himself, Alfred slipped into the front seat and started his car.

…

Matthew tisked, studying himself closely in the mirror and pouting at his reflection. Disappointed eyes, rimmed with tiredness gazed back at him. What the hell was up with his teacher, was the main question on the boys mind. Did he not like cherries? Was that the problem?

Maybe Matthew should have made jam ones instead.

A sharp white tooth sunk into his softer bottom lip. He rummaged around in his bathroom cabinet, the towel he was clutching around himself slipping a little , and found his comb and leave in conditioner. His towel dropped, he stood in his bathroom completely naked as he combed conditioner through his damp, freshly washed hair, not humming, still thinking.

Al had been fine before his shower… maybe the hot water had done something to him. Maybe he had caught a chill. Maybe he had something against pomegranate shampoo…

Matthew hadn't missed the bottle placed sloppily on the wrong shelf when he had showered this morning. He hadn't missed that his entire shelf of shower cosmetics had been jumbled around and moved. It had made him smile a little, not understanding the way it appealed to him. Was cute the word he was looking for? The image of Alfred, cheeks pink, looking uncharacteristically shy and sniffing every bottle one by one surreptitiously was really… sweet. And made Matt feel all warm and giggly in his stomach.

Lips curved into a semi sad smile, Matt placed his brush and his conditioner back down. He had given up training that spiralling lock that had escaped his part now, and ignored the fact that every time he looked at himself in the mirror, it seemed to be getting more perky and bouncy and weird. He tied his damp hair back with an elastic and glanced around the bathroom. Alfred's towel was still on the floor by the door. As were his wet clothes and that large, tan jacket. The one with the number on the back, and woolly collar.

That was odd… Matt hadn't noticed his clothes left there before. But Alfred had left in such a rush… it would only be decent to take them back, right?

His jeans were kind of damp still, but the jacket, when Matt bent down to check, was more or less dry. And it smelt really strongly of axe body spray and something else. Something musky and rich and… Matthew could only describe it as American.

It really was a cool jacket.

Clicking his tongue, he stood back up and tugged it on, flipping the collar up and laughing lightly when he found himself more or less drowning in the heavy fabric. What was it? Leather? Suede? Hard to tell. He shook out the sleeves and pulled the sides around him. The hem fell to mid thigh, it crinkled and rustled when he skipped out of the bathroom and to the full length mirror he had on the back of the door.

It looked well on him, he thought. A soft delighted giggle slipped his lips. He twirled and looked over his shoulder. The fabric was warm and soft and smelled lovely. He looked a lot taller, with it slung around him. It was almost like…

"Alfred's holding me." he dropped his arms clutched to his chest and turned head on to the mirror. The coat opened, revealing the familiar landscape of his body. He tilted his head to the side and licked his lips.

"Alfred Jones…" the name was warm, and filled his mouth to speak. "Mister Alfred Jones… indeed."

His phone beeped, and jerked him rudely from his reflections.

…

"Hi mama."

"Hello my dearest. Please come in." Francesca waved her son into the kitchen, setting a large wooden spoon down on the counter and licking her fingers. "How are you today?"

"Um, I'm okay." Matt glanced around the room, grip on his cellphone tightening. "I got your message."

"Well obviously. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be here." She smiled, and he dropped his bag on the kitchen table carefully. It clinked where his keys in the bottom hit the wood.

Matthew had been halfway to school when his mother had text messaged him.

_Forget school today love. Come help mama with cooking tonight's meal._ (ahh… the meal. He had actually forgotten about it, until this point.)

He had been confused as to why though. His mother had never asked him to skip school before. For cooking anyway. (He tried not to think of that time she took him to the 'history of romance' exhibit at the museum.) But now he was actually in the kitchen, surrounded by great mountains of food and mingled scents and tastes of what may have been twenty different dishes, matt understood why she had requested his hand.

"Why so much food?"

"Your dad says that our guest tonight is a big eater. He asked I make a lot of food. He was going to help me but… the two had a falling out last night and now he's off on a quest to apologise. So here, I call you! will you stay and help me out?" the hopeful expression on her face melted Matthew's heart, although a subtle longing to go to school, see Alfred Joneses face once more, was quite prominent, he couldn't say no to his ma. And besides, he would see Alfred on Monday. And then he could give back his clothes…

"I like your jacket love." Francesca commented lightly, turning back to her cooking and correctly interpreting his silence as an agreement to stay. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, I uh…" he blushed, looking down at Alfred's coat on his shoulders. Truth of the matter was, he couldn't bear to take it off that morning, and had decided it wouldn't hurt to wear it until he got to school. So long as Alfred didn't see him it didn't matter, right? And it was cold that morning…

If anyone asked why it was so big, he would say it was his boyfriends coat.

Yeah, boyfriend. The word sat weird on Matt's tongue, but he didn't dislike it. And he _knew_ that him and Mister Jones could never be boyfriends, but you know. It can't hurt to pretend for a little. Right?

"It's… my boyfriends."

Francesca, having just pulled a large stack of steal mixing bowls out of the cupboard, froze and dropped them all. They clattered to the ground and echoed in the silence.

"What?"

"My boyfriends." He blushed and hid his private little smile behind his hand. "Don't worry, its nothing…"

And if look on Francesca's face when Matthew had asked her for a vibrator had been ecstatic, then the expression she wore now could be described as maniacally orgasmic. It would be scary, to anyone not acquainted with her, and in its own incredibly riveting way, the most beautiful face she had ever made in her life.

Ever.

"Matthieu! You have a partner? Oh my darling baby boy I am so proud!" she seized him, and crushed her tightly into her heaving breasts. Matt spluttered, and tried to push her away. "I'm so happy! Welcome to the world of _l'amor_!" she kissed him on his crown, he pulled a face, still blushing wildly. "I can't wait to tell your father!"

"Mama!" Matt whined, straightening his glasses, wondering if his little fib was wise. "shush! It's… it's just… shhh! It's a secret! No-one is supposed to know about him yet! If we got found out, there would be a lot of shit to go down. Besides," he pulled a face "he's a guy…"

She blinked beautifully made up blue eyes at him, comprehension slowly dawning. "Ohh…" her full pink lips parted into a comprehending 'o' and she dropped her arms to her side. "Forbidden l'amor. I see…" a swift zipping gesture over her lips, a secretive, mischievous smile rooted deeply in crystalline blue eyes. "Your secret is safe with me. …"

Matthew huffed and straightened Alfred's jacket. Saying those words 'my boyfriend' had really excited him. When he was alone, he made a mental not to roll them around in his mouth a little more, say them and savour them. Deliciously on his tongue.

"Good. Thanks."

"Your welcome dear, but… co you think I could have a name? It's the boy Gilbert, isn't it? The charming one with the handsome smile?"

Matthew shook his head firmly, stepping toward a pot on the stove that was boiling over. "Secret love, remember."

Francesca drooped, but being familiar with the rules of each different sort of love, she nodded her concordance to her child's privacy.

"Fine, fine."

Matthew's turn to ask a question, he was trying to calm down now, a little more flustered than he had anticipated he would be. He choose one completely off topic, and hoped she wouldn't notice.

For now, Alfred was his little secret.

"So, tonight, the dinner." He had a taste of whatever it was he was stirring, liked it, and added a pinch more salt from the bowl beside the range. "This guy I'm meeting is my half brother, right?"

"Oui."

"Well, what's _his _name?"

Francesca shrugged. She wasn't really sure. She had never met the child, but had a few generalized ideas about him and other Americans from watching MTV.

"I don't actually know love. Arthur mentioned it a few times. Its something deadly common I think. Adam, maybe. Or Albert."

Matthew screwed up his nose. Bring on Albert, the old, fat, stuffy-as-his-father hick from godknows where, here to invade his life and suddenly, imposingly, be _brotherly_.

…

Matthew, unlike most only children, had never wanted a sibling.

But that was already clearly established. Spoiled and doted on by his mother, completely over-looked by everyone else, Matthew had long ago made peace with the extremist facets of his relationships, and the manner in which the two balanced out. He was by nature, a withdrawn and pensive person, shy, a little uppity, and happy to take whatever was handed to him. Of course, rarities like Gilbert and Alfred did happen, but he found that for a person to take an interest in him, and for him to take an interest in return, the other needed a certain… quality. One he couldn't explain, or justify. One he didn't quite know how to name, although if an outsider was to label it, it would be 'conceitedness'. Frankly, He needed to be around someone who thought that quite surely, they were the shit.

The reason could probably be traced back to somewhere in his childhood, and the days he spent worshiping his vain mama, being taught himself that he too, deserved to be worshipped and adored.

Perhaps, subconsciously, Matt had a superiority complex.

That would explain his disinterest in others, how comfortable he was being discluded and overlooked. Maybe he thought deep down inside he didn't want to be a part of that anyway, that they didn't deserve to bask in his glowing halo of beauty and poise.

This theory would certainly account for the strange feeling churning in his gut as he contemplated the addition of another, older man to his happy family, and while his sweet nature, untouched by Francesca's molly-coddling and petting, muffled the haughty snooty Matthew firmly for the most part, occasional lapses were to be expected.

That is, if the theory held any ground.

"You know mama, I hadn't really thought about today since… well, I've never really thought about it."

Francesca looked up from her husbands book of crossword puzzles, pen pressed to her plump lower lip. "Pardon?"

"I hadn't really thought about it." Matthew reached for a biscuit, taking the largest one from the tiered cake stand in the middle of the table. "having a brother. I had actually forgotten about tonight completely."

The two were seated at the kitchen table, sipping hazelnut coffee and waiting for the entrees and dessert to finish cooking, before they started on the main course. The large, vintage style clock with winding wrought hands, ticked every minute past eleven and edged closer to twelve each time Matthew stole a glance its way, the sky outside the window was the same stony grey it had been the evening before. Inside the kitchen, it smelled like pepper lime salad dressing and raspberry mousse.

"Really?" Francesca asked, placing the pen and crosswords down. She didn't care for them, really. They were dead boring. "That's odd. Why so?"

Matt shrugged and sipped his drink, licking his cream moustache away with the tip of a rosy pink tongue. "I dunno. I think heaps of people would be excited in this situation. But I'm not sure I want a brother. I'm not excited at all. I just want to meet him, and then never think about him again." he pulled a face. "It seems… like a bit of a superfluous thing now. Maybe ten years ago… but not now."

Francesca nodded her understanding. "Yes, dear. I know. And what's even stranger is that Arthur hasn't told me anything about him! I don't know what he does, where he lived… I don't even know his name." she sighed despairingly. "Sometimes I worry if he still loves me… maybe I should get a new haircut and some lingerie. Would you like to go underwear shopping with your mama tomorrow? We can buy you a new pair of boots too if you like. Or a shirt. Abercrombie has a summer line coming out soon."

"Mum, we are talking about me right now, not your marriage." He thought for a moment. "But, I will go shopping with you I think. If we can go to the sallies. They had a pair of overalls in the window I liked."

Francesca pulled a face apt to convey her distaste at the thought of second hand clothing, but shrugged. "fine fine. But anyway, you were saying?"

"I'm saying, I'm not sure I want to meet this guy. And I'm worried about what I'm supposed to expect." He huffed and tugged absentmindedly on his rebel curl. "To be frank, I'm expecting a twenty-something year old dad. With a sweater vest, and massive eyebrows."

Francesca giggled. "And a sex pistols tattoo on his arse."

"Mama!"

The two dissolved into tittery, French laughter. A comfortable silence settled between them soon, and Matt sighed. Francesca clicked her tongue.

"Well, I'm expecting a fatty with bad manners and abandonment issues. The way your father was going on about him, he sounds like a real brat of a man. All sulky and petty. But be nice!" she tacked the advice on the end and raised a warning finger. "We are Bonnefoys, and we have class, okay?"

"Yes mama. I know. It would be nice to see what he looks like though. Before we meet."

"Oh, that's easy." His mother finished her cup of coffee and licked her lips. "There's a box up in the attic full of Arthurs old photos, from when he was married to what's her name. Um… god I cant even remember. Anyway, there is an album of his baby photos up there I'm sure." She stood and beckoned her son with her. "I'm sure you can have a look once we have finished cooking.

…

Alfred pointedly avoided looking at the empty seat all morning, every time his eyes strayed near it a sharp twinge of gilt bit reprimanding into his neck and he mentally slapped himself, giving a firm 'no!', and carried on talking about whatever the hell it was he was talking about.

Matthew hadn't shown up for form class, so what? It was just one little class, and he thought for sure the kid would come to history. Kids were late to form class all the time. No worries. It certainly wasn't because matt had decided he was a pervert or anything, and requested a change of form class…

He carried on down this train of thought for a good ten minutes, before realising he had been teaching that in 1982 man had landed on the moon.

Whoops-a-daisy.

"Like, are you okay sir?" a stray hand, belonging to a blonde boy Alfred recognised as being the least attentive and most detached student he taught, popped up around the middle of the classroom. "You look like, ill and I'm pretty sure the moon landing was in 1969 or something."

"Right, yeah." Alfred dropped his teaching stick and sighed heavily. "Sorry guys, I'm having a tough day." Usually Alfred really enjoyed his senior scholarship history class. He had only taught them a little over a week, and already found the students to be the most pleasant and intelligent he was yet to encounter. Excluding that blonde kid. What was his name again?

"Thank god its Friday." A voice chimed optimistically. The boy who had spoken this time, Tino, was an especially bright Child with and especially bright smile. Captain of the hockey team (wait, wasn't Matty in the hockey team?) and always shadowed by his towering, mute, but incredibly smart friend, Alfred had taken an almost immediate liking to the guy. On a strictly platonic basis of course. Alfred wasn't a perv-

Nevermind.

"Yeah, I guess so." Slumping down in his seat, al removed his glasses and tossed his hair back. "I'm sorry, I'm completely dead today guys."

"Well then, like, shouldn't you be not talking?"

"Feliks!" the young boy next to the ditzy blonde reprimanded him with a sharp whack to the shoulder. He was sort of shy, usually, and nine times out of ten bore a 'property of Ivan' post-it somewhere on his person. "Don't be rude."

Feliks rolled his eyes. Alfred sighed heavily, cheeks puffing. The clock was being painfully slow. Only half an hour until the last class of the day, Matty's history class, and yet it seemed as though it had been 'only half an hour' for at least twenty minutes. And it wasn't like he was desperate to see the kid again! he wasn't! he just… really wanted to give the jeans back.

Right?

Alfred ignored the shivering fluttering in his stomach, and tried not to think of the queasy sickness that had settled 0over him when he realised matt was not there that morning. Of course, he had thought the worst. As the form class bells ended, the crippling fear of being fired, charged with harassment or even called a paedophile tapped him on the shoulder and gave a cheerful wave. He'd settled down since then but still… the fear made him want to barf every time he thought of it. And then on top of that there was the fact that some suicidal part of him was genuinely aching to see the kid. With his smile and his eyes and that perfume… and that sweetness that disguised a delicious whorey centre. Like chocolates filled with baileys, or spiked strawberry milk (_oh god, that sounds good. I might try that when I get home…)_ Alfred didn't think he could ever look at the boy again without seeing those lips darkened, those eyes hooded with wanton and carnal passion. Because by god that child had a sex toy, and Alfred didn't doubt he used it, and the thought was haunting him and hitting him and marching proudly up and down the strip of his consciousness because knowing this was crossing the line. His line, even, the wavering indistinct boundaries that really held no steed in reality, and tightened and loosened to his hormones will.

Alfred wasn't a bad man. He was bright, friendly, generally happy and carefree. He was confident and self assured.

But he had been told he was wrong too many times, and conditioned to believe he was evil.

Perhaps, were that not the case, Alfred would have been fine. Perhaps he would have carried on in his own oblivious Alfred way, not noticing the churning sexuality that lingered like a smog around every kid he met. He would never act on it, never be tempted, too distracted by everything else to pay attention.

But to have it pointed out, to be told so clearly he must not,

That was rather like turning a large spotlight on, and placing a naked woman in the middle.

His cellphone rung, the team America theme song gleaning a few 'you're kidding me, right' giggles from the students in the room. It was unexpected, and Alfred scrambled to his desk and backpack, finding his stupid little nokia and shutting it off before it could start demanding the class suck on its balls.

"Hello?" he brought his hand up to cover his burning cheek, whispering rather fugitively about it too. "What do you want. This is a terrible time, I'm in the middle of a class!"

"Ah... right." The clipped, stiff voice of his father was like a kick to his already queasy stomach. Alfred groaned and rubbed his eyes wearily, glasses lifting to accommodate his fingers. "Well, I'm sorry. I just... was ringing to apologise."

"Yeah, well you picked a shit time!" Alfred's reply was hissed. He glanced up at his class, peering at him with nosey expressions on their youthful, Naïve faces. _You are all dismissed._ He mouthed, waving toward the door. _Go._

His students leapt out of their seats excitedly. The kid called Feliks was the first out of the door.

"Well I'm sorry, I don't know what you are doing. What do you mean you're in the middle of a class? Have you signed up to a college without telling me?"

"No Dad." Alfred rolled his eyes, flopping down in his desk chair and slamming his one hand on the surface of the desk. "It's not important. What do you want?"

Tino waved to him happily as he left, and Alfred returned the gesture half heartedly.

"I told you, I rung to apologise for last night. It was... out of line. For me to ask that. I'm sorry."

The other end of the line held silent as Alfred reflected on that. He had been so distracted in the last twelve or so hours, he had in truth completely forgotten about the argument that had landed him in this position in the fist place.

"It's okay." He managed eventually. "But for future reference, you're getting nothing I have. Seriously. Nothing."

His father sighed heavily.

"Yes, Alfred, okay. That's only fair. So are you still coming tonight then?" the faintest spark of hope lit the voice, and Al relented. He glanced to the clock. Still ten minutes till Matthew's next class.

"Yeah, I guess so. What's the address?"

"I will text it to you. Be there around six, Frankie will be home but I won't be back until six thirty. Work and all that."

Frankie? Oh god, now Alfred was convinced he was going to throw up.

"Righty-oh." He bit his lip and scratched his head. "I will see you then then."

"That's the plan Alfred. I will see you then."

Alfred hung up before he heard the dial tone on the other end and threw his phone on the desk, shaken.

Why, why why why did his life suck so much?


	17. FOURTEEN in which there is angst

**IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE IS SOMEWHAT IMPORTANT**

**Hello internet. You may remember me. It has been such a long time, I do not blame you if you do not.**

**I have two announcements to make. The first announcement: this update will be my last for the next two to three weeks. I am going on a big family holiday in three days, and will not have time to update before then. I am so sorry, to those of you waiting for the next IGYUMS. I will try to upload two chapters next time, okay? (that's try, not a promise, but goddamn will I try)**

**The second announcement if that I have invented a plot for this tory now. About time. Fuck knows how a person can write fourteen chapters of something and npt have a plot. But whatever. I have one.**

**Finally, I would just like to apologise for my recent inactivity. Unfortunately, I have a real life that demmnads my full attention more and more often lately… mostly for uni and scholarship work, plus my diploma. Would you believe im trying to do all three at once? What the fuck was I thinking. I don't even what is this…**

**ANYWAY. I am sorry. I do love you guys, and I feel like satan for keeping you all waiting for so long. T^T im sorry too is this chapter is unsatifcatory, or shit, or anything. I always feel preassure when wroting long fics, because I think that the audience has set expectations for the next update and they might get upset if I dnt meet those expectations… :/ ugh… jsdjhavjjdsvbadb**

**LONG AUTHORS NOTE IS LONG. LET STORY COMMENCEMENT COMMENCE.**

* * *

><p>FOURTEEN<p>

"They are up here, I think." Francesca bent down to avoid cobwebs, hands splayed before her, hunting in the dusty dim for the chest with the heavy latch she knew was around somewhere. The grey light filtering thorough the dusty attic window heated the place satisfyingly, but was poor if one wanted to actually look for anything in the space. Finally, her hands knocked a large chest, buried beneath ancient board games and piles of her old dresses, and her scrabbling fingers found the heavy metal ring latch by which she could pull it out.

"Matty dear, a hand please?" she wasn't a strong woman, and made no effort to pretend she was. Graciously, her son assisted, and the two of them dragged the chest out from the bottom of the heap into the centre of the small attic toward the stairs. The pile of dresses and games clattered to the floor, a monopoly box opened, spilling hotels and cards everywhere, but neither noticed of cared.

"Right." Francesca clapped her hands together and soothed her skirt. Lets have a look the shall we?"

She knelt down, Matthew beside her biting his tongue in anticipation, and undid the sliding latches on the chest. They opened smoothly, and Matt swallowed his heart beating nervously in his throat.

The confines of the chest smelled like mothballs. It was a strong and unpleasant smell, but Matt stomached it, white knuckled hands gripping the sides as he leant forward to peer in. Why he was so nervous, he didn't quite know. After all, he didn't even expect he would like the man. They would never become remotely close, he predicted, and so why seeing his past in a little box like this was making him so nervous was a grandiose mystery. Matthew didn't care about the guy at all.

Maybe he was just nosey.

He squinted into the murk in the chest, trying to make something out.

"I can't see mama,"

"Mm- me neither. Want to try taking some stuff out and downstairs instead?" fearlessly, Francesca thrust her arms in the chest, and to her surprise found that the contents appeared to be organised in neat plastic bags. That certainly made things easier then. "It's in bags, so just grab a couple of bags and follow me."

…

Matthew was nowhere to be seen.

Ten minutes into his last class, when Alfred realized that he wasn't about to walk through the door and fill that seat next to an unusually silent and sulk looking Gilbert, he stopped what he was doing altogether and collapsed hopelessly into his computer chair. The students, who had been making notes about Rosa Parks in their graffitied 1B5 exercised books, gazed at him expectantly and a little bemused. He had cut off halfway through a sentence, they had all, with the exception of Gilbert, been following with mild interest, and after about a minute during which Alfred was to busy contemplating the sour taste flooding his mouth and the aching shudder of his heart, everyone had began to whisper to their neighbour, a few cautious hands raised to question the dull eyed, flush faced man supposed to be teaching them as opposed to staring grimly at the surface of his desk.

"Um, Mr Jones?"

"Mmm?" Alfred grunted and glanced up briefly, before lowering his gaze one more.

"Uh... never mind."

It was after about five more minutes the class realised they were to learn no more today, and Alfred slumped face down on his desk, berating himself and trying not to sink into that familiar funk once again.

The babble of students gossiping, a heated debate in relation to a 'property of Ivan' post it (again. That teenager was probably the key customer keeping post-it notes in business) and a loud explosion of laughter filled the droning forty minutes until the end of class bell, but Alfred didn't raise his head again until everyone had filed out of the class and he was left in grey silence.

When he did sit up, it was only to pull his rucksack across the desk and withdraw the crumpled, soft denim jeans. The light blue fabric retained a pleasant warmth, as if body heat had been woven into the dense cloth and left to smoulder there against the skin. The thin worn knees and crotch, the tag at the back read something foreign and expensive looking, silver thread on black, washing instructions: hand wash and warm sundry.

Still feeling faintly ill, Alfred slid his thumbs along the waist opening and pulled taught, shaking out the jeans and folding them surprisingly neatly. They were placed carefully in the top drawer of his desk with fearful reverence and a slightly embarrassed wiggle in his seat. Alfred thought calming thoughts, about how he would see Matthew on Monday, for sure, and give them back then.

With that, he slid the drawer shut and stood. He needed to go home and change before dinner, and it was too late to bake a cake or something. Maybe he would buy something on the way.

It was only when he went to grab his bomber jacket off the back of his chair that Alfred realised he had left it at his students flat, on the counter in the bathroom beside a bottle of anti-pimple cleanser and silver barrelled hair dryer.

…

Matt and his mother sat in the lounge room, contents of the first bag spilt all across the lush red carpet, flicking nosily as they could through hundreds of old papers and Polaroid's.

"Mon dieu mama! Look at the size of him!" Matthew gazed in astonishment at the photos he held in his hands, all of them featuring one of the fattest babies he had ever seen in his life.

"Indeed, and look at the size of her." Francesca dropped her guard for a moment and a small fugitive frown line appeared on her face. She didn't realise, and flipped over the photo she herself was studying: A portrait of a woman with large and smiling blue eyes and chin length ringlets of steel grey hair, though she would have only been twenty-something. "She's tiny. How on earth could she have squeezed a kid that big out of her?"

Indeed, in the next photo, a family Christmas portrait dated some years before Matthew's birth, the difference in size between the one-maybe-two year old child cradled in a youthful Arthurs hands and the short, frail lady beside him was bordering on comical.

"I know! The kids about the size of her upper half." Matthew dropped his pile of baby pictures and reached for an album of wedding photos by his mother's foot.

"And she's not very pretty." Francesca threw the photo aside dismissively. Matthew frowned and opened the wedding album. He wouldn't say _that._ Sure, his fathers ex-wife had been littler than his mother, and she had a strangely square jaw for a woman, but truthfully in her cornflower blue sundress and reading glasses, cradling the big fat kid in her arms, she could almost have been beautiful. Especially her eyes. Matt clicked his tongue and began flicking through wedding pictures (the woman in the wedding photos had blue-black hair, just starting to thread with grey. She must have only be eighteen or so then.)

"Mama, you know she is." There were no photos of his brother in that album. Just some really embarrassing pictures of his father with bootlegs and a bow-tie, and so it was of no interest to him. "You just don't want to admit it because your jealous."

Francesca sniffed indignantly. "Why would I be jealous? Your father left her for me, remember."

That's right, he had.

Eyes rolling a little, Matthew opened the second plastic bag of albums and uncovered the jackpot. A scrapbook of what looked like 'first-day-of-school' photos and a tatty old rag with GI Joe on it and a suspicious stain in the corner.

"Oh hey look!" he held up the rag, which was really a small blanket, and his mother crinkled her nose in disgust.

"Ew Matthieu don't touch that. It smells terrible."

Matthew snickered and dropped the blanket/rag thing on the wedding album by his foot. His attention turned to the school photos and his hand flew to cover his mouth, the giggle threatening to spill from his lips was cruel and very, very Francesca.

What had been a chubby baby had apparently grown into a hugely fat little five year old wearing a old pair of round, violet framed glasses and a incredibly slow witted expression. He was actually somewhat disturbing to look at, Matthew knew if he saw a kid that size in the street he would have no other option but to stare in disgust at the mother for allowing her son to get so fat. The kid had intensely blue eyes, like his mum, but they were squinty and lost in the fat cheeks and thick, Arthur-esque eyebrows that matt sincerely hoped his fully grown counterpart plucked. His hair was dark blonde and shorn short into a ridiculous crew cut, which did nothing to flatter the rolls of flab on his jowls and neck. His shirt was white and buttoned proudly, a pair of red suspenders keeping a too-small pair of grey knickerbockers shorts going southwards (as if they would anyway) and the spit polish shine of his black shoes was enough to make Matthew gag.

"This kid will never get laid." He assured his mother, passing her the photo and tucking his hair into a slightly neater pony. "God... he's obese."

Francesca's eyes almost popped out. "I had no idea he was fat!" she whispered, as if the word 'fat' was a particularly nasty swear. Face it, for Francesca, it was. "Absolutely no idea!" her wide and delicately make-upped eyes were lifted from the image and fixed worryingly on her sons face. "No wonder Arthur asked me to make so much food."

Matt nodded solemnly and he checked some more school related pics, each of them featuring the same huge kid in various school related situations, one of which looked to be 'daddy day at Devon primary'. Deciding he didn't like to see such a gross snotty little kid clinging adoringly to his fathers leg, Matt hunted through the photos for something more recent. Something closer to what he could expect to meet tonight.

"Looking for this?" his mother answered his thoughts and ended his quest, handing him a photo with a paragraph of scraggly writing on the back.

_Dad,_ Matt read the writing first. _Mum said I should send you one of my middle-school dance photos, even though I didn't want to. Here it is anyway. No-one wanted to go with me, so that's why I'm alone. Put it on your mantle or something. Maybe. I don't care. I didn't even want to send it._

There was no name, and the ink it was written in must have been cheep because it was faded with almost ten years worth of must and darkness. There was a faint film of dust on the front of the photo. Matt wiped it away and grimaced. His brother hadn't grown into his looks. Not at all.

"Wow." He placed the photo down, disturbed. "Just... wow."

It was nipped up by Francesca, who glanced at the text and raised her eyebrows at the portrait on the other side.

"Yeesh. No-wonder he never put it on the mantel."

But they couldn't find any more photos, regarding this so called 'Albert' beyond the age of fourteen.

…

Arthur checked his watch nervously. It was quarter to six, soon he would be seeing his eldest boy for the first time. Or what felt like the first time, anyway. Truth was, he couldn't even remember what the kid looked like. Just that he was unhealthily overweight and he wore glasses.

A guilty pang, Arthur wondered if maybe he had been wrong to isolate himself so completely from Alfred. If maybe, just maybe, he should have taken a little interest a bit earlier on. It was hard to tell. Arthur had never been very good with emotion and things. He had been called cold before, and withdrawn. But that didn't mean he didn't care. Really.

Frankie was better at all those sorts of things, he thought. And besides, tonight at the dinner he was sure he would be able to apologise to his eldest properly. Maybe tomorrow the four of them could all go out for ice cream.

Yes, he decided, straightening his tie and glancing at the clock again. That sounded good. That sounded positively delightful.

…

Alfred showered. He shaved. He sprayed himself liberally with Jean Paul Ga-whatever, and he stared at his reflection for at least ten minutes, feeling almost exactly like the dorky kid again. The one with acne, flab, and no father.

He didn't like this feeling.

So used to being handsome, and loved, and having all the girls and friends, this retrospective pang was almost too much. As if he hadn't been through enough in the past several months, now this was happening and he would still have to go to school on Monday despite it all, pretending that he still believed he was a good man, that he was worth something, and that he was half as smart as everyone gave him credit for. He hated that even as an adult, he still let childish insecurities get to him. He hated that even seeing himself, knowing he was handsome and a fully grown man, he still felt like an abandoned four year old inside, wanting to cry and tantrum and hide away forever, because he wasn't satisfactory and he was looking at another ten years of emotional scarring ahead. No amount of weight loss, or braces, or Hard Acne medication could fix that.

Anxiously he ran his fingers over the pitted scars on his cheeks and tried to hold thought of something positive. This was easier said than done. The entire 'Matty' situation still lingered over his head like a dark cloud, and even he knew he may have crossed a line here and now. It hadn't seemed so clear at the time but now he felt like he was facing the loss of his job again, the unravelling of his life again, and he hadn't even managed to pull this new one together yet.

Swallowing his fear, forcing his mouth into a smile that looked dashing but was as fake as the Rolex watch on his wrist, he decided that the suit was too stuck up, and maybe he would be much more comfortable in just trousers and a shirt. He missed his jacket sincerely, having always found it to be of deep comfort to him, and thought that there was something very ominous about the fact he had left it behind at Matthews flat. Very ominous indeed.

It was a funny story, that jacket. When he was fifteen, he had gone on a class trip to a US air force base. Like always, much of the ride there had been spent taking cruel words and listening to nasty jibes, and when he arrived he wanted nothing more but to go back home. It had been terrible at first, but then came lunch in the cafeteria and while he had been sitting alone, munching his way through three plates of food and a Pepsi from the vending machine, a young man had approached him, sat beside him, and smiled.

"Hey kiddo." The man smiled, looking dead handsome about it. He too had blonde hair, blue eyes, and glasses, but they looked well on him. The Name on the pocket of his jacket read 'ALFRED F. JONES' and Alfred had nearly fallen off his seat. "what's up?"

"Is your name Alfred Jones?" he had blurted. "Because that's my name too!"

Alfred Jones the Air Force cadet had stared at him in surprise, and then a small smile of amusement flattered him.

"It's a pretty common name…"

"Yes but how can you be Alfred Jones? You don't look anything like an Alfred Jones! You look…" Alfred stared at him, unable to put it into words.

The man looked fit. He looked like everyone's friend, like he was in charge. He looked like he had a good sense of humour and a good lifestyle, like he was the sort of man who went out there to help others. The sort of hero he had only ever read about in comic books. His eyes glittered with the hero spark, and his jaw had that definite heroic line to it. All that was missing on him was a cape. A cape, and a big old fashioned quiff, like superman.

"You look like a hero."

Alfred the Cadet grinned and started laughing. Not unkindly, but still.

"Wow, really? I wish my captain could hear you say that, maybe I would get promoted."

"How old are you?" Alfred asked rather rudely.

"Nineteen," came the reply. "I've only been here for a while. Haven't had the opportunity to be a hero yet, but I'm going to try." He winked and dug eagerly into his tray lunch. Fifteen year old Alfred watched him in numb shock. This boy, who shared his name, was going to be a hero. This boy, who had his very own name, was handsome and happy and healthy. Alfred felt a sudden longing to be like this boy, and to see the world like this boy. He expressed this thought, in an eloquent "?" and the older Alfred frowned, brow creasing in thought.

"What do you mean?"

Alfred flushed.

"It's stupid. Never mind…"

But older air cadet Alfred had looked at him thoughtfully, not missing the fact he was sitting far away from the other kids, looking more than simply 'teenage-depressed', and almost fading away into the background. It was strange, usually by fifteen kids began to take on their own identities, and their own lives. But this boy… it was like he had no framework on which to build it. No aspirations, no hopes…

"Hey, Alfred." He nudged the other with his elbow, and smiled when he looked up trough unflattering glasses lenses. "You know, I didn't reckon I would make a very good hero. How can I be a hero when all I do is stay here every day and clean airplanes? Kind of lame right?"

Young Al knotted his lips together, hesitant to agree but not entirely disagreeing either. The other carried on.

"Do you know who I reckon are the real heros? The real heros are the people who can stand up for themselves and for others, and who can show the big meanies in their life that its not okay to be nasty. The real heros are the people who teach other people what it means to be your own hero, in your own way. Do you know what I mean? Like a teacher teaches children math, a hero teaches people that they themselves can be brave and so can everyone else. Pretty cool eh?"

Shy, sort of following but not really, younger Alfred nodded. Older Alfred chuckled, knowing that he probably didn't quite understand just yet.

"Here," he said, pulling off the jacket he wore which had the name ALFRED on the breast. "Take this. It's a heros jacket, and its so that when you wear it you will feel braver from now on, okay? Don't let those nasty mean old buggers irritate you any more."

Al gasped at the dirty word, and then giggled nervously.

"You swore."

"Yea, heros swear sometimes." He winked and passed the folded jacket over. It hadn't cost him much to buy, and it didn't cost him much to give, but in awe Alfred had taken it and worn it, though it was easily far too small. When Air Force cadet Alfred F. Jones watched him leave that afternoon, he had felt quite content, like he had accomplished something important in his life, but the present Alfred F. Jones standing in front of his mirror looking pale and trying to still his shaking hands had no way of knowing this, and no way of believing it. Without the jacket, he had no reminder that such an exchange had ever happened, and without such a thing ever having happened, he was that same old kid again, on the buss and dodging spitwads, feeling like he had no point in existing.

It was lucky then, that he was unaware the Alfred F. Jones who gave him the jacket was certainly no hero, committing suicide no more than seven months later. It was easier for him to simply walk out that door toward his fathers house with a fake smile plastered on his face, than it was to know the reason his air force counterpart had done so was because he had gotten his girlfriend pregnant, and her father forced her to have the child aborted.

Because that note struck far too close to home.

…

A knock on the door.

Matthew looked up from his novel and pulled a face, sliding off the sofa and stretching.

"Where are you going dear?" Francesca in her best party frock was already on her way to answer. She couldn't wait to see the whale-man, her stepson, for the first time.

"Upstairs… I don't want to meet him straight off. Call me down when dad gets home."

"Shy?"

"Pfft… no."

Okay, maybe Matt was a little bit. But that was genuinely just because he was a shy person. That, and he could really go for a cigarette…

"Hello." Alfred smiled tightly at the woman who answered his knock. She was slender, with heavy assets and a classical, timeless face. If he had to put an age on her, Alfred would say about twenty, although he knew she must be at least forty by now. he didn't doubt she would continue looking twenty until she turned seventy-five either, upon which she would immediately sink into graceful seniority with clear sapphire eyes and thick white hair tumbling across delicate shoulders. Her hair curly blonde hair was pulled into a neat pair of braids, the dress she wore was powder blue and laced with silk ribbons. He had never seen quite such a pretty woman in his life, and yet, she looked strangely familiar.

"…Hello, you must be… Albert." After a ten second period in which Francesca ogled with a rather unbecoming loose jaw, she managed a gracious smile. "I'm Francesca. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Alfred took the hand offered. It was slender, and once again, puzzlingly familiar.

"It's Alfred, and pleasure to meet you too." He lied. "I was going to make a cake to bring, but ran out of time." He released her hand and dug around in his carry bag for that box. He found it, and whipped it out. "I brought pop-tarts."

"Oh." Francesca's eyebrows arched. "How… delightful."

"Yeah…" receding into that awkward turtle state, Alfred stopped brandishing his low-in-fat-high-in-deliciousness gift and nudged his glasses anxiously. "They uh… go in the toaster."

Difficult silence scraped its nails enthusiastically over the comfort of the pair. Francesca cleared her throat, a good hostess until the end.

"Well," she asked. "Would you like a seat?"

"Uh, yah. Yah, that would be great." Alfred pulled out a chair and flopped down, gut twisting unpleasantly with anxiety. "I… Yeah… like to… sit." He winced, and stared rather pointedly at the table. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm just… really nervous,"

Startlingly, Francesca found herself thinking he was kind of cute. Clumsy, a little bit stupid she suspected, but very sweet and little and she wanted to pat his little head. It made her want to giggle ridiculously and clap her hands, maybe skip upstairs to her sons room and drag him down.

_He's nothing like that photos at all!_ She would exclaim. _He's actually quite gorgeous!_

"It's okay dear, as soon as your father gets back we can eat and oh! Hey, I know. I have someone for you to meet." She smiled widely at the thought, handling it as smoothly as possible without doing a little dance.

Francesca loved beautiful people, and she loved rubbing them in each others face. She was a little bit like a mad scientist in that way, or perhaps a crazed god, taking two beautiful people and shoving them together until they exploded and multiplied and became a hundred beautiful people. Or so one would think she hoped.

"Oh. Yeah." Alfred's stomach dropped in dread, waiting for it. The kid with the padlock in his ear plug and the sid-viscious tee shirt. The tantrum throwing screamy little brat he hated with every bitter fibre of his being.

Well, he decided, raising his head. Time to look upon the face of the spoiled, father usurping enemy.

"Go on then."

"Darling!" Francesca raised her voice, calling her son down from upstairs. "he's here now! Put out your fag and come say hello!"

Matthew hadn't even lit a cigarette yet. He had been sitting on the edge of his old bed, digging around in his drawers for one he hadn't smoked, and fingering the hem of Alfred's jacket absent mindedly. The feel of the fabric was reassuring. Distracting. It reminded him that no matter how bad this meeting with a stranger will go, no matter how much they dislike each other and compete for their dads affections, he will still be able to go to school on Monday and lay eyes on the most friendly and clever and bright man in the world.

That was a good feeling.

He sighed, brows creasing because he had specifically _told_ his mother he didn't want to meet him yet, and pulled himself off his bed. A quick stretch, Matthew straightened the coat on his frame and swept his hair aside carelessly. It was the moment of truth.

He licked his lips quickly, took a deep breath, and descended the stairs.

Alfred looked up at the clack of what may have been tap-shoes on the mahogany wood. The stairs were not visible from the kitchen, but he could hear every step as clear as glass as the faceless stranger descended the staircase and approached the kitchen door. His hand was the fist thing visible, white and petite like his mothers. His feet, clad in disturbingly familiar shoes and smooth legs (shaved so his shin guards wouldn't wax him) disappearing into the leg-holes of boardwashed cut off jeans. There was no black, no studded belt, and as the stranger stepped fully into the room, a thin, graceful creature with an enchanting face and wavy, sunshine golden hair, Alfred was hit with a wave of disbelief and horror so intense it struck him dumb.

Just, dumb.

The boy blinked in surprise too, glancing around the otherwise unoccupied room for the brother. His brother, where was he? And why was Mister Jones in his kitchen wearing a neat shirt and pressed black trousers?

Oh god! Mister Jones. Matthew was wearing the jacket!

A wild red blush, Matthew was almost dizzified with sudden, horrifying humiliation. Maybe he hadn't noticed. Maybe…

"Ta-da!" Francesca smiled brightly, oblivious to the atmosphere thick and glutinous with embarrassment and disbelief. "Alfred, meet Matthew. Matthew, meet Alfred! Come sit down Matty dear, join us, and you two can get to know each other."

Matt thought he was going to be sick.

* * *

><p><strong>Fanslewfantasy does not own hetalia. but they are perverted and have no life outside of schoolwork and gay sex. yay me! :D :D :D :D <strong>


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